Pawns
by vega2
Summary: Can Michael and Bonnie find the answers before they reach checkmate?


Knight Rider characters copyright Glen A. Larson   
Pawns copyright L Borchers 2001   
A big thanks to my Beta Reader, Tomy   
  
  
  
Pawns   
  
  
  
Bonnie arched a cynical eyebrow. "You aren't getting sick, are you?"   
  
"No. I'm not getting sick." Michael snapped defensively, slipping on his black leather jacket as he climbed into the driver's seat. "I don't get sick."   
  
"Well, you look a little peaked to me." She called as he backed out of the semi, hanging a U Turn and speeding out of sight. Men could be such babies sometimes, she laughed. She flipped a switch and the lift gate retracted, leaving her to think about tomorrow night's big gala. A black tie and gown affair. She had no idea how she had been added to the guest list, but she wasn't about to make waves. She could see it now, all eyes on her as she walked in arm in arm with Michael. There were going to be some jealous men and envious woman there.   
  
  
  
Michael handed the controls over to Kitt and settled back into the comfortable bucket seat. He had a couple of work related errands then he would stop at the cleaners and pick up his tux. He hated monkey suits, but it would be worth it to see Bonnie's face tomorrow night. She was as excited as a schoolgirl. According to Devon, it was one of the biggest fundraisers of the year. To be invited was a prestigious honor.   
  
"Bonnie is right Michael, your vital signs are..." Kitt began in his slight Boston accent. He had noticed a change in Michael's behavior the last two days, but had been hesitant to say anything. Michael seldom admitted to being sick, and when he was, he was as grouchy as they came. To Bonnie and Devon's consternation, he usually slipped away to his apartment, not to be seen again until he felt better. He hated being fussed over.   
  
"Not you too, Kitt. Why can't everybody just leave me alone? I'm tired. That's all. After a good night's sleep I'll be fine."   
  
"So you do admit to not feeling well." If Michael didn't know better he would have sworn he heard a smirk in his voice.   
  
Michael ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. He felt tired and achy, just not himself. But nothing to be concerned about. All he needed was a good night's sleep. "Tomorrow night is Bonnie's big night. Nothing will keep me away from that."   
  
"I admire your loyalty, Michael. But if you are not feeling well."   
  
"That's it." Michael ordered. "End of conversation."   
  
"Very well,   
Michael." But Kitt continued to recheck Michael's vitals. Something was diffidently amiss.   
  
  
  
Kitt sped along the surface streets tripping traffic lights as he approached each intersection. In the driver's seat Michael sat gasping in pain. It had started simply enough, an upset stomach and headache, nothing to be concerned about, then suddenly his blood pressure dropped and the intense abdominal cramping began.   
  
Kitt was very worried. He kept an open line to the Foundation.   
  
"Kitt, how is he?" Devon's worried face appeared on monitor two.   
  
"His vital signs are dropping rapidly. I don't know what is wrong with him. We are three point seven miles from the hospital. I have alerted the staff to expect us."   
  
"Good work. Keep me informed. Bonnie and I are on our way."   
  
Kitt turned his attention back to Michael. His partner was barely conscious. He ran a quick medical scan and found an alarming amount of a chemical he couldn't identify in his bloodstream.   
  
"Hang on Michael." He urged. They were less than a mile from the hospital.   
  
He pulled into the emergency entrance where a team of medical personal waited with a gurney. They quickly lifted Michael out of the car and Kitt watched them disappear through the automatic sliding doors, leaving him alone and terrified. Terrified that he might be losing Michael. He found a nearby parking spot and continued to monitor him over the comlink for as long as it remained on his wrist.   
  
  
  
Bonnie and Devon arrived thirty minutes later, visibly shaken. Kitt had kept them abreast of Michael's condition for as long as he could, and it did not look good. The doctors were having trouble stabilizing him.   
  
Silently, they waited in the visitor's lounge for another forty-five minutes until a doctor, looking haggard and exhausted, walked into the room.   
  
"Mr. Miles, Ms. Barstow? I'm Dr. Bronson. It was touch and go," he said, collapsing into a nearby chair, "you got him here just in time. Another fifteen minutes and we wouldn't be having this conversation."   
  
"Is he going to be all right?" Bonnie was afraid to hear the answer. There was something in the doctor's demeanor that made her fear his answer.   
  
"He should be, in time." He ran a tired hand through his hair.   
  
"What happened?" Devon reached a hand out to Bonnie feeling her trembling. They had spent too many hours in waiting rooms just like this, awaiting news of Michael's condition. It was the price they all paid for the job they did. But sooner or later... He pushed the thought from his mind.   
  
"He was poisoned."   
  
"What?" Devon's mind whirled. "Poisoned? How?"   
  
"He received a large overdose of Lomotil."   
  
"Lomotil?" Bonnie had heard of the drug, somewhere in her studies. But she never associated it with poisoning.   
  
"It's a commonly prescribed drug. In small, carefully administered doses, it is a wonder drug. In high doses, like the one Mr. Knight received... It's a killer. We have pumped his stomach, started him on Naloxone therapy. He'll feel like hell for a few days. Withdrawal symptoms can be severe with a dose that high. But he is young and strong. I expect a full recovery."   
  
Bonnie leaned back in her chair. Who would want to poison Michael? "How was the drug administered?" she asked.   
  
"We don't know. It was not ingested, we checked his stomach contents. It appears that he was receiving small doses for a few days before he showed signs of the overdose."   
  
"He didn't look well this morning." Devon chastised himself. "I should have insisted he visit Dr. Lambert."   
  
"You couldn't have known that he was that ill." The doctor cautioned. "He probably didn't even realize it himself. But the important thing to keep in mind is, that you did got him here in time."   
  
"Kitt did." Bonnie sighed. "I'd better go tell him the news, he'll be worried sick without Michael's comlink."   
  
Devon nodded. "I'll stay here until he awakens."   
  
"That may be awhile Mr. Miles. He's under heavy sedation. Why don't you both come back in the morning?"   
  
"Thank you doctor." Devon settled back into the uncomfortable chair for the long wait. "But I'd prefer to stay."   
  
  
  
Michael was mad. Not only had he awoken to find himself in a hospital bed, his body festooned with wires leading to nosey monitors and I.V. lines, his stomach aching from being pumped, his throat raw from tubes being shoved down it, he also had to contend with the nurse from hell. She was worse than any drill sergeant he had ever met in the Army. In her late fifties, she was tall, still incredibly strong, and blessed with a personality that would make Attila the Hun run for cover. Every hour, on the hour, she was back in his room, taking his blood pressure, temperature, and gleefully giving him a shot in the rear. Of all the indignities he had experienced in hospitals over the years, Hell Nurse was the worst.   
  
"When can I get out of here?" He asked, his voice sounding weaker than he expected. He had to admit that he felt like hell. He vaguely remembered Kitt racing for the Hospital. The doctor had not stopped in yet and he still wasn't sure what had happened. But there was one thing he was sure of: he would be a lot happier at home in is own bed.   
  
"The doctor will talk to you about that. But I'd guess no sooner than seventy two hours."   
  
Michael looked up at her, his jawing dropping. "That's three days..." He said incredulously.   
  
"I'm impressed. You can count. Hit the call button if you need anything." As she walked out the door she called, "I'll be back for your sponge bath later."   
  
Michael groaned miserably... why?   
  
  
Dr. Cameron O'Dell was tall and thin as a toothpick. In his mid forties he had been an emergency doctor for fifteen years. As Chief of Emergency Services here at Cartwright Memorial Hospital, he had seen it all. Every kind of accident, every kind mayhem humanity could foster upon itself. As he reread Michael's chart, he had to admit that he was stumped. The amount of Lotomil in his system could not have been an accidental overdose. It was tantamount to attempted murder. But he couldn't find the means by which it was introduced into his system. He had not ingested it. There was nothing in his stomach. No needle marks.   
  
"That's all I can tell you for now." Dr. O'Dell said, closing Michael's medical chart. He had finished his examination and was satisfied that Michael was out of danger for the moment. He had followed the prescribed procedure for non-accidental poisonings and contacted the local police. They were waiting to interview him.   
  
"What's next?" Michael asked. "When can I get out of here?"   
  
"In a few days. We'll keep you on the Naloxone, keep a close eye on your blood count. We'll just take it day by day. Meanwhile, you try and get some rest. I'll be back to see you this evening."   
  
Michael was left alone to count the ceiling tiles, again. A few days... He wanted out of here now. Someone was trying to kill him. He wanted to know who and why. Cooped up here was counterproductive. And bringing in the police would just muddy the waters. Someone was after him. And then, there was Bonnie's party... He drifted back to sleep.   
  
  
He wasn't sure how long he had dozed but Bonnie was sitting on the edge of his bed when he awoke.   
  
"We were really worried about you," she leaned over to kiss him lightly on the cheek, noticing how hot and dry his skin felt from the fever. A chill went down her spine at the thought of how close they had come to loosing him. "Especially Kitt. He's beside himself with worry."   
  
"We all were." Devon scooted a chair closer to the bed. He had remained at the hospital until Michael was settled in his room and semi-conscious, just for his own piece of mind, but he doubted Michael remembered him being there.   
  
"If the nurse from Stalag 13 would give me my comlink..."   
  
"Flattery will get you nowhere Mr. Knight." Hell Nurse was standing in the doorway, a strange smirk on her face. "You can have all your personal items back when you check out. You two have five minutes then visiting hours are over."   
  
"Good God man," Devon stared as the door closed, "what was that?"   
  
"That was my nurse. Come on guys," Michael pleaded, "you've got to get me out of here."   
  
"That's the doctor's call my boy," Devon laughed. "But I'll talk to Dr. Lambert. I'll see if you can be transferred to the Foundation's infirmary. At least you'll be closer to home."   
  
"Thanks. Just get me out of here."   
  
"Then we had better leave before we've kicked out."   
  
"Bonnie," Michael pointed to a pitcher of water on the bedside table, "would you mind getting me some fresh water? I'm thirsty as hell."   
  
"Sure. I'll be back in a sec."   
  
As the door closed behind her Michael waved Devon closer. "About tonight. Bonnie's big party."   
  
"Don't worry about it, Bonnie has forgotten all about it."   
  
"I haven't. Do me a favor Devon, take her? She's been so excited."   
  
"I'm not sure she will want to go with you..."   
  
"Convince her." Michael insisted.   
  
"All right my boy, it would be a pleasure."   
  
"Thanks. Make it a surprise."   
  
"Oh I will." Devon patted him on the shoulder. "Rest assured, she will have a wonderful time."   
  
"Five minutes are up." Hell nurse was back in the room, her arms laden with towels and soap. "Time for your sponge bath."   
  
Michael looked up at Devon, his eyes imploring the older man to save him. "I'll do what I can Michael," he laughed. "I promise."   
  
  
It was four thirty in the afternoon and Bonnie was just finishing up on some minor repairs to Kitt. After spending most of the day trying to retrace Michael's steps, trying to make sense of everything, she turned to Kitt. While Michel was out of action for a few days she decided to do some general maintenance. She needed to do something to keep her mind off Michael. The thought that someone had tried to poison him sent shivers down her spine. The worst part was feeling so helpless. The terrible truth that haunted her was the fact that whoever did it could try again at anytime. And, she had to admit; she was still disappointed about the party.   
  
She heard a noise behind her and spun around to see Devon standing in the doorway, dressed in his tux.   
  
"Devon...?"   
  
"My dear, what are you still doing here? The party starts in two hours."   
  
"But..."   
  
"Michael insisted that I take you."   
  
"I can't go now. Not with Michael..."   
  
"He insists. As do I. Michael is in good hands at the hospital... rough hands," Devon flashed back on the nurse from hell, "but capable none the less. He wants you to enjoy this night. The doctor has assured us that he will recover nicely. There is no need to worry. A plain-clothes officer is on guard at his door. He will be fine. He's wants you to enjoy yourself."   
  
A big grin spread across her face. "I'll be ready in an hour." She laughed. "Thank you, Devon."   
  
"Thank Michael."   
  
"I will. Believe me."   
  
"That is one very happy lady." Kitt mused.   
  
  
  
As promised, an hour later Bonnie stood in Devon's office.   
  
"You look lovely tonight, my dear." Devon gently kissed the back of her hand. She wore a simple light blue strapless gown, accented with her volumes of rich brown hair pulled loosely away from her face.   
  
She blushed. "Thank you kind Sir. May I say, you too, are looking very debonair tonight."   
  
"Thank you. I am an old man, I am certainly not the dashing young hero, but I promise you a very entertaining night."   
  
"I could not ask for a better escort."   
  
"Excellent. Shall we, as they say... blow their minds?"   
  
  
  
All eyes were on Bonnie and Devon as they pulled up to the St. Regis Hotel in Kitt. Three parking attendants clambered over each other trying to be the first to park the sleek black car. As Devon climbed out of the driver's seat the door automatically closed and Kitt pulled away from the curb to find someplace suitable to park.   
  
"How'd you do that?" One of the attendants asked, his mouth still hanging open.   
  
"Remote control." Bonnie grinned; proud of the fact that her baby still made grown men grovel.   
  
"May I?" Devon asked gallantly, and they made their way into the hotel.   
  
  
  
Bonnie had been in some impressive buildings, the Foundation's Estate was no slouch, but this hotel was breathtaking. The lobby was enormous. A four-story atrium with a glass ceiling rose above them. Comfortable sofas and over stuffed chairs sat atop expensive carpeting. A solid oak reception desk and concierge station spanned the back wall. To the right, double doors led to one of three ballrooms. Lilting music drifted into the lobby from a live string quartet.   
  
At least a hundred people milled around easels displaying local artists paintings. All wore expensive gowns and tuxedos. This was more than she had ever dreamed. Her only regret was that Michael was not here to enjoy it. Waiters threaded themselves through the maze of people and paintings serving champagne and hord`oeuves. Devon snatched two glasses of champagne off a passing tray. "My dear," he said with a slight bow, "champagne for the lady?"   
  
"Thank you kind Sir." She actually thought she might have blushed.   
  
"Shall we mingle?" Devon guided her slowly through the crowd. He was a master at functions like this, Bonnie thought. She had met a dozen strangers who all seemed to know Devon before someone called her name from behind.   
  
She whirled around to see a man, somewhere in his mid thirties, almost as tall as Michael, with blonde hair that just touched the color of his silk white, dress shirt. He looked like a male model just walking off the catwalk.   
  
"You don't remember me...?" he asked with an exaggerated pout.   
  
She knew she had seen him before. Recently.   
  
"I was hoping you would come."   
  
"Steven...?"   
  
"The one in the same." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.   
  
She had met him three days ago at an auto show. Then he was dressed in blue jeans and a tee shit. Far cry from what he was wearing tonight.   
  
"You sent me the invitation?"   
  
He nodded. "I said I would. And I never break a promise to a beautiful woman."   
  
This time Bonnie blushed in earnest.   
  
Steven turned to Devon, "And you must be Michael Knight."   
  
"I'm sorry." Bonnie smiled, "My manners. Steven Belmont, this is Devon Miles, my boss. Michael couldn't make it tonight, he isn't feeling well."   
  
"What a pity. Well, I hope he feels better."   
  
"I'm sure he will," Devon smiled, looking past them both, his attention suddenly distracted. Bonnie turned to see a woman in her late fifties smiling coyly at him. "The old dog..." she thought.   
  
"Devon Miles," the woman began making her way through the crowd towards them. "My God, as I live and breathe, if it isn't Devon Miles."   
  
"Florence. How long has it been?"   
  
Bonnie was astounded by Devon's reaction to the woman. She appeared to be in her sixties, but still stunning. In her younger days she much have been breathtaking. Even tonight, in a flowing black gown with a silk jacket and diamond necklace she was beautiful. Her silver gray hair was upswept, accentuating her dark blue eyes that sparkled as she looked at Devon.   
  
"Too long."   
  
"Yes." Devon agreed, a tenderness to his voice that Bonnie had seldom heard. "Much too long." This woman must have been someone very special in his life at one time.   
  
Devon caught Bonnie staring at them both. "Bonnie, it is I who must apologize for my manners this time. Bonnie Barstow, allow me to introduce Florence Willowby."   
  
Bonnie shook her hand warmly, noticing no ring on her ring finger.   
  
"Florence," Devon continued, "Bonnie is, among other things, my mechanic extraordinaire."   
  
Florence laughed, "How times have changed. It's a pleasure to meet you my dear."   
  
"And this," Bonnie smiled, "is Steven Belmont. A new friend."   
  
"A pleasure to meet you Steven." Florence smiled warmly then directed her attention back to Devon. "My, my, it is so good to see you again. Do you still ride that Harley of yours?"   
  
Bonnie swallowed her sip of Champagne quickly, nearly spitting it out in disbelief. "Harley? Devon, you road a Harley?"   
  
"Oh my dear," Florence threaded her arm through Devon's, "he came riding into town, and every girl..."   
  
"Florence, please," now it was time for Devon to blush. "I'm sure these young people do not want to hear of the exploits of an old man like myself."   
  
"Nonsense Devon." Bonnie grinned, she had never seen Devon so unnerved. "We want to hear everything."   
  
Florence was about to expound on his exploits but Devon was already leading her away. "There is a fine table over there," he pointed to a corner of the room where a few table and chairs were set up. Bonnie, would you mind...?"   
  
Bonnie found it hard to keep a straight face, "Of course not Devon. Enjoy your evening."   
  
"Yes," Steven smiled, "enjoy your evening, I know I will."   
  
  
Two hours passed and Devon was still immersed in conversation with Florence.   
  
Steven leaned over and whispered in her ear, "What do you say... we take a hike? This place is getting boring. I know a very nice little restaurant a few miles from here."   
  
She nodded, her face flushed with excitement. She had not done anything like this in years. "Let me say goodbye to Devon."   
  
  
"Are you sure my dear?" Devon was on his feet, trying to apologize profusely. "I am very sorry. I have been a dreadful escort."   
  
"You have been a wonderful escort." She kissed him gently on the cheek. "I'll see you back at the estate later."   
  
  
Twenty minutes later they were sitting at a quite corner table in the Golden Terrace Restaurant. Steven had ordered a bottle of expensive wine and caviar.   
  
They talked for an hour, mostly about Steven. Bonnie couldn't discuss much of her life, but she was beginning to grow tired of his ego. It made her miss Michael all the more. With everything that he did, that he had, his ego never ever reared its ugly head. Steven, on the other hand, was all ego.   
  
Steven began to refill her empty glass and she slid her hand over it. "I think I've had more than enough. Besides, it's getting late. I think we should be going."   
  
"All right. Your place or mine?"   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
Steven's expression suddenly turned cold. She saw that his mouth had become slack, his eyes droopy. He must have had a number of drinks earlier in the evening before she met him. "Bonnie, I didn't spend all this money on wine and caviar for nothing."   
  
Bonnie grabbed her handbag drawing three twenties out, tossing them on the table, "That should take care of my half." She replied, her voice husky with anger.   
  
"I don't want the money, I want you." He reached over and grabbed her left wrist.   
  
"Let go." She warned.   
  
"Or what?" He leaned closer over the table.   
  
She turned her hand in his and dug her nails into his skin until he yelped, pulling it away.   
  
"You'll regret this bitch." He snarled.   
  
"What I regret is having ever met you." She stood up so fast that her chair fell backwards onto the floor startling the other patrons. Great, she thought, now on top of everything else I've made a scene. She headed for the door, her head held high. What a night. The cool night air felt good on her flushed face. How did she let herself get into this mess? She looked back and saw Steven standing at the door watching her, his anger growing. Damn it. She remembered she had no car. What else could go wrong? She saw him slowly retreat back into the restaurant, probably to finish off the bottle of wine. She hoped Devon was having a better time.   
  
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She would have to go back into the restaurant to call a cab. Hopefully Steven would be busy nursing his bottle of wine. Just as she was about to turn back a cab rounded the corner. At least something went right, she thought as she climbed into the car.   
  
  
Bonnie slammed her apartment door closed, making the pictures on her living room wall dance. She was angry. More with herself than with Steven, even though he was a first class jerk. She had allowed it to happen. Things moved faster these days than she was comfortable with.   
  
She went into the bedroom and changed into a pair of old comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt, took her hair down and made a cup of Camomile tea. Tomorrow she would stop by the infirmary and tell Michael how much fun she had, that she had stayed out till dawn, and never once thought about him. All bald faced lies.   
  
She was headed for her bedroom when she heard someone pounding at the door. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Two thirty A.M. Steven? The man did not take no for an answer. She set her teacup down on the table. How did he know where she lived? She hadn't given him or address. This evening was turning into one hell of a nightmare she thought.   
  
"Who is it?" She called through the closed door.   
  
"Police Ms. Barstow, open up."   
  
Stunned, she carefully opened the door, half expecting to see Steven on the other side grinning like an idiot. But it wasn't Steven.   
  
"Ms. Barstow?" A plainclothes detective stood in the hall, flanked by two uniformed officers. He appeared to be in his late fifties, balding, with a nasty scar running down the left side of his face. He flashed her his badge. "Lt. Struthers," he snapped, shoving a piece of paper into her hand as he pushed by her into her apartment.   
  
"What is this all about?" Bonnie demanded. "You can't come in here like this." Fear and anger making her voice sound hard. What the hell did they want at this hour?   
  
"That's a search warrant, Ms. Barstow. Where were you this evening?" He asked, walking around the room, idly toying with books and computer parts strewn across her coffee table.   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"It's not a hard question. Where were you this evening?"   
  
"At a fund raiser at the St Regis Hotel, than the Garden Terrace Restaurant on Hudson Street."   
  
"What time did you leave the restaurant?"   
  
"I don't know exactly." She glanced at the clock on the wall again. It was two thirty five. She had been home a little over an hour. "Around one thirty I guess. What is this all about?"   
  
"Did you leave alone?"   
  
"Yes. What is this all about?" She was becoming more and more uncomfortable, anger turning to fear.   
  
"You didn't leave with Steven Belmont?"   
  
"No."   
  
"He was your date for the night, correct?"   
  
"No. Not really. We met at the fund raising event and went out for dinner. I left on my own a little after one."   
  
"Why?"   
  
"What is this all about?"   
  
"I'm asking the questions, Ms. Barstow. Why did you leave on your own?"   
  
"Because I wasn't comfortable with him."   
  
"You had an argument?"   
  
"No. Yes. Look," she looked around the room, suddenly feeling trapped. "I'd like to call a friend."   
  
"In a while. Answer my question first."   
  
"We had words. I wouldn't call it an argument. We didn't know each other well enough for that."   
  
"You had words. About what?"   
  
"He was just being a jerk, that's all. No big deal."   
  
"Then what?"   
  
"I left."   
  
"He drove you home?"   
  
"No"   
  
"You had your own car?"   
  
"No." she snapped, exasperated, "I took a cab."   
  
"You called a cab?"   
  
"No. I hailed one."   
  
"After one A.M. on a Tuesday night on Stanton Street you just hailed a cab?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Detective Struthers, what is this all about?"   
  
Struthers nodded, watching Bonnie closely for a reaction. "We found your 'date', Steven Belmont, dead this evening. Stabbed to death."   
  
Bonnie nearly lost her balance. "Oh my God..."   
  
"The time of death seems to coincide with your little tiff. He was found outside the Golden Terrace Restaurant."   
  
"No..." Bonnie took a step back. "You couldn't possibly think..."   
  
"I think it would be a good idea if you came down town with us."   
  
"Are you arresting me?" she asked in amazement.   
  
"Tony?" Everyone looked toward an officer walking out of Bonnie's bedroom. He was holding up a dress shoe with a pensile. On the toe was the unmistakable red stain of blood.   
  
"Is that your shoe Ms. Barstow?"   
  
Without thinking Bonnie nodded. "But... there was no blood on it when I took it off."   
  
"You wore it tonight?"   
  
She stared at the shoe. It was the same one she had taken off an hour ago. "I... ah..."   
  
Struthers nodded toward the other officer in the room. "Cuff her."   
  
  
Bonnie felt the handcuffs click in place as she heard her Miranda rights being read, all through a haze of disbelief.   
  
My God....   
  
  
Michael felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name from far away. He didn't want to be bothered and shrugged off the attempt to wake him up. It seemed that the moment he finally fell asleep another nurse was in his room, drawing blood, taking his temperature, his blood pressure. How the hell did they expect him to get better if they didn't let him sleep?   
  
"Mr. Knight? You have a phone call."   
  
A phone call? That piqued his interest. Who would be calling him here? He carefully opened his eyes. A nurse he didn't recognize stood over him, phone receiver in hand.   
  
"This is strictly against hospital rules," she whispered, "but the call seems very urgent. It's from someone named Kitt."   
  
Kitt? A chill ran down his spine. Something major must have happened for Kitt to call. He looked at the window to his left. It was pitch dark outside, and from the sounds of the hall outside his room, very late. He bolted up, regretting the move as the room began to spin around him.   
  
"Kitt?" He was surprised at how weak his voice sounded.   
  
"Michael...?"   
  
"What's wrong?"   
  
"I'm sorry to disturb you. I know you are not feeling well." There was an unusual cadence to his voice. "But, Bonnie is in trouble."   
"What happened?"   
  
"Michael, Bonnie has been arrested and charged with First Degree murder."   
  
"What?" It was the drugs. He was hallucinating again, a side effect of the drugs he was given.   
  
"Murder? Who?"   
  
"I'm not sure of all the details. Someone she met at the fundraiser.   
She was taken to the Elmhurst Police Station for booking."   
  
"Jesus. Is anyone with her?"   
  
"No. Devon is... incommunicado... He met an old acquaintance at the gala."   
  
"Devon?"   
  
"Evidently they have a history."   
  
Michel shoved the blankets off, "Meet me at the front entrance in twenty minutes."   
  
"Michael, you are in no condition to..."   
  
"I'm not going to let Bonnie go through this alone. Get word to her, somehow, that we're on our way."   
  
"Very well Michael, but I still think..."   
  
"Just do it Kitt, please."   
  
He handed the phone back to the nurse. "I need my clothes."   
  
"You can't leave. You're still running a fever and..."   
  
"Either you give me my clothes, or I walk out of here with my ass hanging out of this gown. Your call."   
  
Exasperated, the nurse retrieved his clothes from the closet and threw them on the bed. "Just wait a few minutes until the doctor can talk to you."   
  
"He won't change my mind." Michael said belligerently.   
  
"I know. But at least he can give you the meds you need. Just a few minutes."   
  
Michael nodded and watched her leave the room. Meds? She was probably rounding up the biggest orderlies she could find to hogtie him to the bed.   
  
He carefully slipped off the bed, waiting for the room to stop spinning before dropping the repulsive hospital gown and slipping into his clothes. There was something in Kitt's tone that told him that Bonnie was in a lot of trouble.   
  
  
  
Bonnie sat in the interrogation room, stunned. How could this have happened? She stared down at the wooden desk that dominated the small room. Coffee stains and gouges marred the old surface. How many people like her had sat at this table, frightened to death, accused of a crime they hadn't committed? How many of them sat in jail right now?   
  
A six by six foot mirror reflected her image. She knew it was a two-way mirror and someone was watching her every move on the other side. She had called Kitt, the only one she could think of. Devon was still unreachable, totally our of character for him, but then again, Bonnie had not seen the kind of glint he had in his eyes for Florence the entire time she knew him. And Michael was still in the hospital. She instructed Kitt not to bother him. But deep down inside she longed to have him here, sitting by her side, telling her everything was going to be all right.   
  
The door opened and Det. Struthers walked in with a tall man, his white shirt coffee stained and stretched to its limit over a bulging stomach.   
  
"Ms. Barstow, Det. Ordell and I have a few questions."   
  
Bonnie took a deep breath and nodded. She would do anything to get out of this hellhole. If they knew the facts then they would have nothing to hold her on. She knew she should wait for her lawyer, who ever Devon chose, but he would not be here until sometime tomorrow. She wanted out now.   
  
"Exactly where were you between nine P.M. and one thirty A.M.?" Det. Ordell groaned as he slid into a chair at the tale. The chairs were bolted to the floor for safety and there was barely enough room to fit his copious girth.   
  
"I left the restaurant around one A.M."   
  
"Alone?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"What about Steven Belmont? Did he leave too?"   
  
"He followed me as far as the front door to tell me that I was a two-timing bitch, then went back inside."   
  
"What did he mean by that?" Struthers asked.   
  
"I don't know. I guess he figured I owed him for the night."   
  
"Did you?"   
  
Anger, out of fear and frustration simmered just below the surface and she had to force herself not to explode.   
  
"I didn't owe him a thing. We just met."   
  
"Are you in the habit of going out with complete strangers? Isn't that kind of dangerous in this day and age?" Ordell reached into his jacket pocket and dumped a handful of M&M candies on the table. That explained the bulging shirt. He probably ate them all day, or night, depending on his shift.   
  
"He wasn't."   
  
"Wasn't what?"   
  
"A complete stranger."   
  
Ordell smiled around a mouth full of candy. "You just said you just met."   
  
"I met him once before. A couple weeks ago."   
  
"So he wasn't a complete stranger?"   
  
"No. But I didn't know him. He invited me to a fund raising event."   
  
"So you did owe him. And when you didn't put out he got mad and came after you. If it was self defense Ms. Barstow, then say so. It's a lot easier to face jail time for involuntary manslaughter then first degree murder."   
  
"I didn't kill him!" She regretted raising her voice. Struthers stared at her, making her nervous. The scar on the side of his face seemed to darken as his expression changed to one of hostility.   
  
"How did the blood get on your shoe?" Ordell asked.   
  
"I don't know. It wasn't there when I took them off."   
  
"It just appeared out of nowhere? One minute their clean and the next... poof... blood stains?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"You had been drinking. Do you think you might have just forgotten?"   
  
"What?" Bonnie looked from one face to the other in disbelief. "You think I could kill a man and not remember?"   
  
"Steven Belmont is dead. You were the last one to see him alive. You have bloodstains on your shoes and no alibi. You tell me what we should think."   
  
"I didn't do it."   
  
"You work for the Foundation For Law and Government, huh?" Ordell began playing with the candies on the desk, arranging them in little circles.   
  
Bonnie glanced at her reflection in the two-way mirror. Who was watching her? She noticed her tangled hair hanging in her face. Her eyes looked haunted. They were asking questions she couldn't answer. She was innocent. She thought that they would see that. That she would be on her way home by now. But, my God, they really thought she killed Steven Belmont. She prayed Kitt disobeyed her and called Michael. She needed him so much now. She couldn't get through this alone.   
  
"A little dicey, you working to bring in the bad guys and now your a bad guy yourself. What does your boss think of all this? Or is he just hanging you out to dry? Haven't seen anyone come running to your rescue. Maybe they know something that we don't. Maybe they are going to just let you sit and rot because they know you're guilty."   
  
"They're on their way."   
  
"How did the blood get on your shoe?" Struthers leaned over the table, his breath in her face. "Or is that a new fashion statement?"   
  
"I don't know." Her voice was beginning to sound desperate. She took a deep breath, tried to relax, but her heart was racing. You felt like she was on the verge of loosing control. "Maybe someone put it on there after I took it off."   
  
"Someone walked into your apartment and smeared blood on your shoe. And where were you?"   
  
"I took a shower when I got home..."   
  
"So, someone sneaks into your apartment while you're in the shower... Are you in the habit of leaving your door unlocked while you're in the shower?"   
  
Bonnie shook her head.   
  
"Someone broke into your apartment, walked into your bedroom while you were in the shower, and poured blood all over your shoe."   
  
"I don't know. Maybe."   
  
"Maybe? You don't sound very convincing, Ms. Barstow. Care to add anything to clarify the situation? I mean, what you've giving us so far has only dug your hole deeper."   
  
Bonnie fought back the tears. "I didn't kill anyone."   
  
"Someone did." Struthers and Ordell stared at her. She felt herself cringing back into her chair. "I think I'd like to see my lawyer before I say anything else." She said softly.   
  
"Good idea. You're going to need one."   
  
  
Michael walked down the cellblock towards the holding area where Bonnie waited, amid the hoots and catcalls from the other female prisoners. The sounds and smells were all too familiar, bringing back memories of his days as a Las Vega cop. He hoped Bonnie was holding up. He knew what she had already been through: finger printed, strip searched and I.D. pictures taken, then a mandatory shower and her new home, for how long, he couldn't even contemplate.   
  
The police had a strong case. Evidence, he had gone over as Kitt drove him from the hospital, was stacking up. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to frame her. And it was solid.   
  
He reached the end cell. Thankfully the Booking Sergeant had put her in a cell by herself, not in General Lockup. As the guard unlocked the door he saw her huddled in a corner on a simple cot bolted to the floor.   
  
"Bonnie..." He said gently. He got no response. The guard ushered him in and locked the door behind him. The sound of the cell door slamming shut made him wince. Was there another sound in the world that was more lonely and filled with such finality? He looked around the cell. Damn, this was no place for her. An eight -foot by eight -foot cement room, with a washbasin and toilet in one corner, and her cot in the other. He approached her slowly, not wanting to frighten her any more than she already was. She wore an orange regulation prison jumpsuit and her hair still damp from the shower.   
  
"Bonnie...?" He sat down beside her, her back still to him.   
  
She slowly turned to face him, her face drained of color, her eyes red and swollen from the tears that began to wrack her body again. She collapsed into his chest and sobbed until there was no more strength left in her body. He held her tightly, rocking her gently in his arms, kissing her forehead, letting her cry it out. "It's going to be all right." He whispered. "We'll get you out of here. I promise." He wished he felt more confident then he sounded. "Can you tell me what happened?"   
  
She wiped at the tears that soaked her face and sniffled back another onslaught "I don't know." She said, her voice trembling. "I don't know."   
  
"How did you know Steven Belmont?"   
  
"We met at the auto show I went to last week."   
  
"And...?"   
  
"I don't know. We just began talking about cars and computers and fine art. He said he'd see me in a few days again."   
  
"And you saw him again last night?"   
  
She brushed back her hair, still damp and smelling of disinfectant soap. "Yes. It turned out that he was the one who sent me the invitation."   
  
"So you met him there. At the fundraiser."   
  
"I didn't exactly meet him. He was there and we began talking again. Devon was, preoccupied."   
  
"So you met this guy, then what happened?"   
  
"I don't know Michael. I'm just so tired. Confused. I want to go home."   
  
"I know." He kissed her gently on the cheek, feeling her trembling beneath his hands. She felt so frail, so much in need of comforting. But he had to ask the question. Questions he knew the police had already asked. Questions that might have already done too much damage. "This is important, Bonnie. I have to know everything that happened. Nothing is too small."   
  
"Not now." She tried to brush him away, tired of the endless questions. The police had done nothing but ask questions for what seemed like hours. She was tired beyond words, and terrified. The only thing she wanted to do was lean against Michael's strong shoulders. He would find a way to get her out of here.   
  
"It's important Bonnie." He persisted. "The sooner you talk about it the less you will forget."   
  
"Forget?" She sat up, "Forget? There's nothing to remember Michael. I didn't kill him!"   
  
"I know that." He coaxed her back into his arms, "But there's going to be a lot of questions. The more you can tell me now, the more I have to go on. Now, had you ever seen him before the auto show?"   
  
"No. I wish I had never accepted that damn invitation. Look where it got me."   
  
"And you saw him again last night?"   
  
"We were there, maybe thirty minutes when I saw him. I didn't recognize him right away. He's like you." A tiny smile played at her lips. "He cleans up very nicely."   
  
"Should I take that as a compliment?"   
  
Bonnie snuggled her face against his chest, suddenly alarmed by the heat his body was radiating. He was still running a high fever. What had she done? "Michael, what are you doing here? You belong in the hospital."   
  
"Let's not worry about me right now. What happened next?"   
  
"We danced and talked and... He seemed like a really nice guy. The party was getting stuffy, Devon had disappeared with Florence..."   
  
"Who?"   
  
"Evidently an old flame. The sparks were flying."   
  
"Devon?   
  
She nodded.   
  
"Then?"   
  
"Steven suggested we slip out and catch a late dinner."   
  
"You left with him after only meeting him twice?" Michael couldn't believe he had blurted that out in a pang of jealousy. His emotions were too raw. He had to get a grip.   
  
Bonnie pushed him away, squaring her shoulders. "Is that supposed to mean something? I've known you to jump into bed with a woman after the second smile, let alone having dinner after the second meeting."   
  
"I didn't mean..."   
  
Bonnie brushed the hair out of her face; a gesture Michael had seen her do so many times before. "I know. I don't know why I went out with him Michael. You were in the hospital, and out of danger. Kitt was in the garage being overhauled... I guess I was just feeling lonely. It seemed like a harmless date."   
  
Michael cradled her hands in his. "I know this isn't easy for you. Where did you go?"   
  
"The Garden Terrace Restaurant."   
  
"And...?"   
  
Bonnie tried to pull away again. Despite what had happened it was still embarrassing. She had acted like a naïve schoolgirl.   
  
Michael held her firmly. "I can't help you unless I know about everything." He said softly, brushing the hair away from her face "The simplest thing could be the answer we're looking for."   
  
She nodded. He was right. It was just so hard. "We had a great time at first. We had a couple of drinks and an appetizer."   
  
"Did you also have a drink at the party too?"   
  
"Yes..." Bonnie answered defensively, "two glasses of Champagne. But I wasn't drunk, if that's where you're heading."   
  
"And at the restaurant?"   
  
"We ordered a bottle of wine. Michael, the bottle was still half full when I left. I was not drunk."   
  
"I believe you. But the police may have other ideas. Did they draw blood or have you take a breath analyzer test?"   
  
"Both."   
  
Michael nodded, taking mental notes. "Then what happened?"   
  
"He started getting pushy, telling me what he expected of me in return for rescuing me from a dull party... Michael, I haven't been in the dating game for a long time, but I wasn't prepared for that."   
  
"Don't let a slime ball like that turn you off men. There are still good ones out there."   
  
"I know," She smiled genuinely for the first time that night and cupped his face in her hands, her smile instantly fading. "Michael, you're burning up. Please go back to the hospital. Devon will be here soon."   
  
He pushed her hands down. "The hospital can wait, you can't. Now, what happened next?"   
  
"He was starting to get drunk, sloppy. I told him that I was tired and wanted to go home. I guess he thought that was his cue. When I told him I was only interested in a simple night out he went ballistic. He said he hadn't spent all that money on me for nothing. I paid for my half of the bill and went outside and hailed a cab."   
  
"Do you remember what cab company it was?"   
  
"Michael please, I already went through this with the police."   
  
"Then go through it again with me," he insisted.   
  
"It was a light green color. That's all I can tell you. I haven't taken a cab in ages. He took me straight to my door, no problems. I tipped him and went into my apartment."   
  
"Did anyone see you? A neighbor, someone walking their dog? Anyone?"   
  
"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. I was still seething over the incident at the restaurant. Michael..." tears welled up in her eyes again, "they found blood on my shoe."   
  
"I know sweetheart," he pulled her closer to him again, "you've been set up. But we'll find out who it is, I promise. Now," he unbuckled his watch and handed it to her, "someone wants to talk to you."   
  
Bonnie took the comlink with trembling hands. "Kitt...?"   
  
Michael nodded.   
  
"Bonnie...?" Kitt's wonderful voice brought new tears to her eyes. What must Kitt being thinking of her? "Kitt...I'm sorry."   
  
"For what?"   
  
"For letting myself get caught up in something like this."   
  
"You are not at fault here Bonnie. Michael, Devon and I will do everything within our powers to get you exonerated."   
  
"Thank you Kitt. I love you."   
  
"And I love you too Bonnie..."   
  
Michael reached down and grabbed the watch quickly strapping it back on his wrist as a guard came to the cell door. "You have five more minutes."   
  
Michael nodded, turning back to Bonnie.   
  
"When can I get out of here?"   
  
"You will go before the judge in the morning for arraignment and we'll post bail. Once we have you back home we can really go to work. Now, I know you probably won't get any sleep tonight but try to relax."   
  
Bonnie wrapped her arms around him holding him as tight as she could. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to be left here alone. She had never felt so scared, so helpless. She was innocent, but if they couldn't prove it she could be in a cell like this for the rest of her life. "I can't stay here Michael. Please, I can't."   
  
"Listen to me. We are doing everything we can. But it takes time. As soon as we find Devon, he will make some calls. You know he has a lot of clout. He'll get your case on the docket tomorrow. Trust him, trust me."   
  
"I do Michael."   
  
The guard opened the cell behind them and Bonnie watched Michael step out and the door slide closed again separating her from the rest of the world. She reached her hand out and he held it tightly. "It's going to be all right. You have to believe Bonnie."   
  
She nodded watching him walk out of sight down the cellblock. She believed... but...   
  
  
It was eleven o'clock and Bonnie was finally in the courtroom. Michael had found Devon, still in the company of Florence and he had pulled some very deep strings to get her case slotted into the morning's agenda. It couldn't have been soon enough. She sat beside Devon, her hands trembling. It had been an awful night. The sounds, the smells, everything about the cellblock had thrown her into a deep depression. At first she had been in total disbelief at being accused of murder. But as the evidence started mounting she felt her life spinning out of control.   
  
"Where is he?" She looked at the empty seat to Devon's right. Across from them the District Attorney sat next to the Assistant Attorney, whispering as they read their notes, bobbing their heads in agreement, occasionally looking up at the Judge or surreptitiously looking over at her.   
  
"He'll be here." Devon whispered.   
  
"It's now five minutes past eleven Mr. Miles. I will give you five more minutes." Judge Bon Christiania cautioned, "if Mr. Grayson isn't here by then Miss Barstow's case will be rescheduled."   
  
"Forgive our tardiness Judge," Devon began to stand, "I'm sure..."   
  
Behind him Devon heard a commotion and Chad Grayson blundered into the courtroom. Short, thin and hopelessly uncoordinated, he hurried toward the defendant's table dropping a trail of papers behind him.   
  
"Please, I ask for the courts forgiveness, Your Honor, but I was just given this case a mere four hours ago." He dropped his briefcase on the desk upsetting Bonnie's glass of water. He hurriedly tried soaking it up with a handkerchief he pulled from is breast pocket. "I'm sorry," he muttered.   
  
Bonnie leaned over and whispered in Devon's ear, "Grayson? Why?"   
  
"Because, despite his looks, he is the best man for the job." Devon squeezed her hand again, "trust me."   
  
Bonnie moaned silently. Chad Grayson was the last man she trusted. He had been hired by the Foundation three years ago and she had seen him in passing a few times. Each time something clamorous was happening around him. He appeared to be the quintessential foul up. And Devon trusted him to clear her of a murder case? What was he thinking?   
  
The Judge nodded, "Let's get on with this then. Yours is not the only case I have on the docket this morning."   
  
The court's clerk stood up and read the charges leveled against Bonnie and her knees nearly gave way. To hear her name and murder in the same sentence rocked her to the core.   
  
"Your Honor," Grayson addressed the Judge, "we ask that you allow Ms. Barstow to leave on her own recognizance."   
  
"Your Honor," D.A. Charlene Hyland stood up. She was young and eager to make a name for herself. The bottom line for her was: conviction. The more cases she won the more likely the high-powered law practices would notice her. Bonnie Barstow was her 'E' ticket to the top. "Ms. Barstow is accused of first degree murder, Your Honor. To allow her to leave on her own recognizance would be a slap in the face to all other defendants who stand before you without the guidance of multi million dollar lawyers."   
  
"Thank you Ms. Hyland, for putting me in such rarified air." Grayson bowed toward Hyland, smiling smugly. Bonnie cringed. How she dislike that man. "I am, however not a multi million dollar layer, not that I wouldn't like to be." He looked back up to the bench. " I submit that Ms. Barstow is not a flight risk..."   
  
"Your Honor," Ms Hyland interrupted, "she has the money and the means to get out of the country at the drop of a hat."   
  
"Which," Chad countered, "she will not do."   
  
"She was the last person to see the victim alive. She had a very public argument with him. The police found blood on her shoe."   
  
"Ms. Barstow is a member of the Foundation for Law and Government. She believes in their ideals. She has been wrongly accused and will not do anything to jeopardize her chance of an acquittal."   
  
"The evidence will prove that she had motive, and..."   
  
"Is District Attorney Hyland trying to bring in evidence before the court before the trail even begins?" Grayson, for his lack of stature and bumbling ways seemed to grow before Bonnie's eyes. Maybe there was more to Grayson than met the eye.   
  
"The facts speak for themselves. Just because Ms. Barstow works for..."   
  
"Which in itself gives her more credibility. She..."   
  
"Oh give me a break. She is no less likely to..."   
  
"Enough!" The judge bellowed. "Both of you calm down. I am setting bail at five million dollars and placing Ms Barstow under house arrest. That means Ms Barstow," he pointed his gavel at her, "that you are not to leave the Foundations premises. You will wear an ankle monitor at all times. If you are found beyond the boundaries you will be hauled back here and incarcerated until the trial is over. Do you understand?   
  
Bonnie nodded.   
  
"The stenographer can not write a nod, Ms. Barstow."   
  
"I understand, Your Honor."   
  
"Good. The Deputy will arrange for the ankle bracelet. Next case."   
  
  
  
It felt good to be home. After standing beneath a hot shower for what seemed like an eternity, trying to wash away the stench of the jail cell, Bonnie dried her hair and slipped into a pair of worn blue jeans and a soft blue turtle neck sweater. Her customary white jumpsuit was too close to the orange prison issue jumpsuit she wore the night before.   
  
She deliberately took her time, dreading the moment when she had to face Michael and Devon again. She felt so stupid. Because of a lapse of judgment, she had brought all this upon herself and the Foundation. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. "You can't hide for the rest of your life." she said to her reflection and pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail. She took a deep breath. It was time to face the music.   
  
  
  
"Damn it. They didn't miss a trick." Michael seethed as he read the first couple of pages of the report Devon had just handed him. While he grudgingly allowed Dr. Lambert to finish his tests, Kitt had prepared a report that was alarmingly thorough.   
  
"It would seem so," Devon agreed. He sat at his desk rubbing his temples. He studied Michael as he read the report, the younger man's expression growing bleaker with every sentence.   
  
"Are you sure about Belmont?" Michael looked up at Devon. Devon couldn't help but notice his pallor and fever bright eyes. Under any other circumstances he would have ordered him back to the infirmary where he belonged, but these circumstance were far from ordinary; Bonnie was facing life in prison for first-degree murder. Dr. Lambert had gone over the details of the drug that was somehow still coursing through Michael's system. He detailed some of the symptoms: Sudden high fever, a flushed appearance and rapid breathing. The second faze of symptoms included abdominal pain, lethargy, depression and progressive central nervous system depression, severe respiratory depression, seizures and coma. The reaction time for the first symptoms to appear was approximately thirty minutes. Naloxone was the recommended counter drug. The words still remained in his mind, reminding him how much he could lose in a very short period of time if they did not find the person or persons behind this.   
  
"Earth to Devon..." Michael's voice penetrated Devon's revere.   
  
"I'm sorry Michael, what did you say?"   
  
"Are you sure about Belmont?"   
  
"Kitt double checked. Steven Belmont was employed by the Mr. Right For The Night Agency. He was a male escort."   
  
Silence filled the room as the implications sank in.   
  
"Who hired him?"   
  
Silence, again.   
  
"Who hired him?" Michael prodded.   
  
"According to the records... Bonnie Barstow."   
  
Michael's mouth dropped open. "That's impossible."   
  
"Of course it is. But, it gets worse Michael."   
  
Michael leaned back in his seat, forgetting the file in his hands. He was growing too tired for all this. Every step they took just brought them one step closer to convicting Bonnie.   
  
"The records show that Bonnie herself arranged for the date."   
  
"That's ridiculous. Anyone could have gotten a hold of her credit card."   
  
"Indeed. But... It appears that Bonnie visited the Mr. Right For The Night Agency personally and picked Mr. Right: Steven Belmont."   
  
Devon watched Michael's expression change from disbelief to confusion.   
"She made arrangements for the 7th and 16th of this month, and paid for it with her credit card which they still have the originally signed receipt. It appears to be Bonnie's handwriting."   
  
"You can't believe..." Michael began incredulously.   
  
"Of course I don't" Devon snapped. "This is an elaborately planned hoax. None the less, it is going to be hard disputing their evidence."   
  
"What about the person who took the booking?"   
  
"She gave her notice and left the next day. No one has seen her since."   
  
"What a surprise. She's probably dead by now." Michael said.   
  
"I'm afraid you may be right, Michael."   
  
"Then I'd better check the place out." Michael groaned as he stood up. "At least it's a place to start."   
  
"Michael, I know I can't stop you, but please be careful."   
  
Michael nodded, "Aren't I always?"   
  
  
"Michael, what do you expect to find here?" Kitt asked, pulling up to a downtown high rise.   
  
"Answers, Buddy." Michael laid his head back against the headrest. It was becoming more difficult to concentrate.   
  
"Perhaps you should let someone else do the leg work."   
  
"Who? Devon is working with Chad on a defense for Bonnie."   
  
"There must be someone," Kitt insisted. "You are growing weaker by the hour."   
  
Michael uncurled himself from the car, "Can't be helped Kitt. Now, keep your scanners peeled."   
  
"Very well, Michael. But, be careful."   
  
"My middle name." Michael grinned as he headed for the huge doors leading into the lobby.   
  
He stepped out of the elevator on the sixty-fifth floor and headed down the hall to suite 654. Gold lettering embossed on the expensive Mahoney door welcomed him to the Mr. Right for the Night agency. He stood at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath and composing himself. Dr. Lambert's injections were reducing the nausea to a bearable state, but it did nothing to alleviate the fatigue. He wasn't sure how much longer he could continue before his body succumbed to the Lotomil that was coursing through his system.   
  
The Mr. Right for the Night agency was decorated in soft tans and grays, all designed to bring a masculine, yet comfortable feel for the women who walked through it's doors looking for that perfect someone for the night.   
  
Sitting behind a massive mahogany desk a man in his fifties, his teased hair dyed so black that it looked blue, looked up as Michael walked in, cocking a quizzical eyebrow at Michael's attire: black jeans, black shirt and worn black leather jacket. "You're late," he snapped. "Take a seat, Andre will be with you in a moment. And next time, wear something more appropriate to the work place."   
  
Michael sat down and waited. He was willing to play along for a while, to see where it got him. Fifteen minutes later a short man wearing a black tux with a lavender cummerbund emerged from a back room. He was not more than five feet tall with a strand of blonde hair combed from right to left over an ever-widening bald spot.   
  
"I must remember to thank George." He said as he walked over to shake hands, his eyes slowly following Michael as he rose to his full six foot four height. "My," he nearly giggled. "I wasn't expecting someone so tall. But I'm sure we can find something suitable. Come this way please."   
  
Michael walked behind him noticing the back of his head was a bald as the front. He walked into the fitting room and heard the door close behind him. The walls were painted a light blue with deep blue plush carpeting. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined the opposite wall and several racks of tuxedoes hung from bars suspended from the ceiling on ornate chains. It was obviously designed for the client to choose a wardrobe for her escort.   
  
"Shall we get started?" Andre` said dragging over a step stool to reach Michael's shoulders. Michael waited, not sure what was next. "The jacket..." Andre prompted. Michael shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it to Andre`, who took it between two fingers and flung it into a corner. "Now, do you have a preference? Classic one button notch, single breasted one-button peak or perhaps a four- button notch. Tall men like yourself look best in a double breasted. What about the bow tie? Butterfly bow, pointed bow or square bow. There is also the color of the cummerbund. I am sure you will want to go with a classic white shirt. Then we must choose the cufflinks, shoes and if I my be so bold, a pair of suspenders. We would not want to see you loose your pants while dancing the Rumba."   
  
"I'm not sure we're on the same wave length here." Michael grinned.   
  
"I don't understand."   
  
"I think you have me confused with someone else."   
  
"George didn't send you?"   
  
Michael shook his head, suppressing a smile.   
  
Andre` stepped off the stool. "What a pity. You would have been just perfect for Mrs. Archer. Oh well, perhaps if you are in need of some extra money..."   
  
"I don't think so." Michael retrieved his jacket.   
  
"Pity. Then what brings you here Mr....?"   
Michael quickly searched for a name and came up with Packard, a name on the back of the computer terminal. "Packard. Michael Packard. I'm with Shepard, Shepard and Ross. We represent Steven Belmont's estate in a wrongful death suit filed on behalf of his family. Since he was employed by you at the time of his death..." Michael let the implication sink in before he continued, " ... you are directly responsible for..."   
  
"Now wait just a minute, Mr. Packard," Andre` puffed himself up indignantly, "we had nothing to do with that heinous crime. That young woman..."   
  
"Do you know why she came to you?"   
  
Andre` shrugged, opening a file cabinet next to his desk pulling out a file as thick as a phone book.   
  
"Popular guy." Michael observed.   
  
"Mr. Belmont was one of our most beloved escorts. In fact, Miss Barstow asked for Steven personally."   
  
"How did she know..."   
  
"She was referred by the Couples with Couples Club."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Some people find it hard to get back into the dating game. Couples with Couples allows them to meet with others just like themselves, until they feel they are ready for single dating again."   
  
Michael couldn't believe what he was hearing. Whoever had set Bonnie up had engineered an elaborate plan. Couples with Couples Club? He made a mental note to have Kitt check that one out. "She paid by credit card?"   
  
"Yes. In person." Andre` handed him a copy of Bonnie's application form and personal data sheet. "There is a copy of the credit card receipt. The police have the original. I took the liberty of making a few copies for my own records. You may keep that one if you like."   
  
A sudden wave of dizziness washed over Michael and he grabbed for the door for support.   
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Packard?" Andre` bolted from his seat.   
  
"I'm fine." He lied. His legs were beginning to feel shaky. "Just a bout with the flu. I'll be in touch." He closed the door behind him, relieved to be out of André's sight.   
  
Michael slipped into the waiting Trans Am, exhausted. Kitt pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic as Michael sank deeper into the seat.   
  
"Anything?" Kitt asked, his voice betraying his anxiety over Michael's deteriorating condition.   
  
"Nothing. Just more of the same."   
  
"I've contacted Dr. Lambert. He is waiting in Devon's office."   
  
Michael moaned sinking deeper into the seat. "Why Kitt? The only thing he knows how to do is draw blood. My arm feels like a pincushion."   
  
"He is trying to help, as we all are."   
  
"I know Kitt. I know. And I appreciate it. But..."   
  
"But, is not an option at the moment. We will arrive at the Foundation in twelve minutes, I suggest you try to get some rest."   
  
  
  
  
Chad Grayson hovered over the notes he had taken as Michael reported his findings at the Right Man Agency. He had arrived just as Devon and Dr. Lambert were guiding Michael into the office. The drug was apparently taking its toll on Knight. And on Miles. The older man had aged ten years in the past few days. Helplessly watching Bonnie and Knight suffering was far more devastating to him than any personal attack.   
  
Bonnie sat in a corner chair watching everything. She was afraid to approach Michael for fear of losing what little grip on sanity she had.   
She couldn't help but blame herself. As Devon helped Michael off with his jacket and Dr. Lambert gave him another injection of Naloxone, her stomach dropped at the site of him, looking so pale and weak.   
  
"This," Chad said, looking up from his notes, "is not helping our case at all. In fact it's digging us in deeper. Whatever you found there, the police have found the same things. If Bonnie really is innocent..."   
  
"What the hell does that mean?" Michael snarled, pushing Lambert aside so he had a clear view of Grayson. "If you don't think Bonnie's innocent then get the hell out of here!"   
  
"Michael please, bickering amongst ourselves will not help." Devon cautioned. "Chad is doing the best he can under very difficult circumstances. We all are."   
  
Chad's face reddened, "I'm sorry," he stuttered, Knight intimidated him, made him feel inferior. "That didn't come out right. What I'm trying to say is... the evidence is overwhelming. The D.A. has enough now to put her away for life. If you don't find something concrete before we go to trial we don't stand a chance. You all are going to have to face the fact that Bonnie could be convicted. Someone has worked long and hard on this set up. Who knows how long. But we have only a few shorts weeks. Sometimes being innocent isn't enough."   
  
"Damn it, she is innocent." Michael was on his feet, marching toward Grayson. "She'll go to prison over my dead body!" The statement hung in the silent air, echoing in everyone's mind.   
  
"Michael, please, sit down." Devon gently grabbed his arm. "You are not helping matters. Now, allow Dr. Lambert to finish his exam." He turned toward Bonnie, collecting his thoughts. "We have Michael's findings, as disturbing and discouraging as they are, now we have to dig deeper. Find out everything you can about the Mr. Right for the Night agency. Trace all Steven Belmont's former clients, see if there is any connection, anywhere. The police believe they already have the murderer, we must prove to them that they don't."   
  
Bonnie looked up at him, her face expressionless. "What's the use?" She sighed, "Chad is right, it's hopeless."   
  
"No it's not. Now," Devon squared his shoulders, they had to get past this moment. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and start working to clear your name."   
  
Bonnie looked up at him, her mouth gaping open.   
  
"And," Dr. Lambert turned back to Michael, "while they are doing their research I want you resting. You exert yourself too much and you will land back in the hospital."   
  
  
  
Michael rested the best he could. But he merely tossed and turned until he couldn't stand it anymore and snuck down to the garage. Now he was slowly passing by the Golden Terrace Restaurant. It was nearly dawn. The streets were empty except for a lone police car parked in front of the entrance. Twenty yards to the left, yellow police tape crisscrossed the area where Steven Belmont's body had been discovered. It had been two days since the Allison's decided to take a shortcut through the gardens after dinner to their car and discovered Belmont's body, covered in blood, lying lifeless in a bed of Hibiscus.   
  
He felt wretched. Kitt's constant ministrations were not helping. He knew his partner was worried. But he had to be out here, on the streets doing something. As much as he disliked Chad Grayson he had to admit that the future, at the moment, didn't look good for Bonnie. As hard as it was to accept... Innocent people had been convicted in the past. He was going to do his damnedest to make sure Bonnie wasn't one of them.   
  
"Michael I must protest," Kitt began again, "you need to be under Dr. Lambert's care. You should have stayed at the Foundation at least through the night."   
  
"Forget about me for a minute and concentrate on the job at hand. We can discuss my health later. Now, are you picking up anything?"   
  
Michael watched as a series of pictures appeared on the monitors built into the dashboard, cataloging every inch of the area.   
  
"I'm not sure what you expect to find here. The Police have already gone over this area with a fine toothed...wait a minute..." Monitor two went blank for a second then showed the shaft of a knife gleaming in the light from a nearby streetlamp embedded in the trunk of a Fig tree, six feet off the ground.   
  
"Zoom in Kitt." Michael ordered.   
  
As the picture grew larger Michael recognized the shaft and hilt of a ceremonial dagger he had seen on display in the Foundation's mansion.   
  
"My God..." Michael breathed.   
  
"While I don't prescribe to any particular deity myself," Kitt said after a long silence, "I would have to agree."   
  
"How the hell did they miss something like that?"   
  
"They never looked up." Kitt answered ironically.   
  
"We have to get that knife." Michael said, glancing over at the two cops sitting in their patrol car.   
  
"How?"   
  
"I don't know. You're supposed to be the one with the brains here. Think of something. But do it quick, it'll be light soon."   
  
"Alright. But you have to move fast, I can't keep them occupied for very long."   
  
"You get their attention, I'll take care of my end."   
  
"Very well. Watch and learn."   
  
Suddenly the stillness of the night was shattered by the sounds of the police vehicle's emergency sirens blaring and flashing lights. The horn began to honk incessantly. Kitt killed his headlights and pulled up to the curb opening the driver's door. Michael rolled out onto his knees and spirited beneath the yellow tape and scrambled beneath a patch of Fuchsias. He looked back at the two cops, their heads buried beneath the opened hood of their car, trying to figure out why their car had gone berserk. He picked up a large leaf that had fallen from the fig tree and wrapped the knife in it to preserve the fingerprints then slipped it into his jacket pocket. Kitt's door still stood open and he hunkered down on all fours as he raced back to the car and climbed behind the wheel. The exertion leaving him breathless.   
  
Kitt slowly pulled away from the curb and just as quickly as it had started, the police car fell silent.   
  
"Good job..." Michael panted.   
  
"Thank you. Now let's get you back to the Foundation."   
  
Michael nodded, no fight left in him at the moment.   
  
  
  
Michael stared at the dagger sitting on Devon's desk. Kitt had run a fingerprinting analysis on it and had come up with the startling fact that there were only three sets of fingerprints left on the knife. Sir Edward Weidman, the man who had presented the dagger to Devon three years ago, Devon Miles and... Bonnie Barstow.   
  
"Are you insane?" Devon roared, staring at the dagger. "You have just tampered with police evidence. The implications to the Foundation..."   
  
Michael reared up. Tired, sick, and very afraid for Bonnie, he lost his temper. "What the hell was I supposed to do? If the police found that they would slam the door on Bonnie and never open it again."   
  
"Michael, I understand your concern. I share your fears, but we have to work within the legal system. If we do not we are forfeiting everything we stand for."   
  
"I'm not about to watch Bonnie railroaded into a crime that she didn't commit."   
  
"Haven't you thought for one second that I might be guilty?"   
  
Both men swung around to see Bonnie standing in the doorway. Her ever-present white jumpsuit substituted for a pair of blue jeans and a sweater.   
"Have you ever thought for a second that I could have done it? I mean, all the evidence...."   
  
Michael started to stand up but had second thoughts. His legs felt incredibly weak.   
  
"We have not for even one moment," Devon admonished her, "thought that you were guilty."   
  
"Thank you," she said, her face expressionless. "I just needed to hear it. I'm beginning to doubt myself."   
  
Michael scooted over on the couch making room for her. As she sat down he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Come on, that's just what they want you to do."   
  
Bonnie was acutely aware of how hot Michael's body felt next to hers. His face looked pallid and sweaty. "Why aren't you in bed?" She asked. "Dr. Lambert ordered you..."   
  
"Because," he said, "we have got to find out who's doing this to you and why."   
  
Bonnie walked down the hallway towards Michael's room. Devon had convinced him to stay at the mansion for the time being. She had not been down this passage often and had been in Michael's room on only one other occasion. She had worked hard at keeping their relationship professional. But from the moment she had laid eyes on him, despite all her efforts, she had succumbed to his charm. What little resistance she had against him he had whittled away. And now, that she faced the real possibility that their relationship was about to end, in one way or the other, it was time to open her heart.   
  
She knocked twice but got no answer. Slowly she opened the door. It wasn't locked, it never was. Michael always felt safe here. While he chose to live off the grounds, this room was where he kept his most prized possessions. She stepped inside. The light tan walls and dark brown carpeting made the small room seem warm and comforting. A picture of 'The Family', hung on the wall: Devon, Michael and herself standing around Kitt. They all looked so happy. Was it so long ago? His Police badge sat on the dresser next to a picture of his old family, and Stevie. He seldom spoke of them. He had a new life now, and they were part of a past that he could never visit again. She wondered what his mother would think if she knew she was loosing him, yet again.   
  
Michael was sitting in a chair looking out the window at the grounds below. It was dusk and softness filled the semi night. He didn't turn around. She knew he didn't need too. A long time ago he had said that he knew every sound here, everyone by their footsteps. Something he had learned as a cop, and never lost.   
  
She crossed the room laying a hand on his shoulder and looked out the window. Kitt was parked below, his gleaming black skin shinning in the last remnants of sunlight.   
  
"Beautiful, isn't he." She said softly.   
  
He nodded, silently.   
  
"A penny for your thoughts?"   
  
He shrugged, but raised his hand to hers. It felt hot and dry, a reminder of how the ongoing fever was wracking his body. She shivered and he squeezed her hand tighter. How she wanted all this to end. Just to go back to life as it was two weeks ago. The thought of going to prison scared her to death, but the thought of never having Michael in her life again was unthinkable and scared her beyond reason.   
  
"It's a beautiful night. A full moon." She rattled on, saying nothing, just words. She didn't know how to start. How to tell him exactly how she felt. She had kept her feelings a secret for so long, even to herself.   
  
"Do you have any regrets?" he asked suddenly.   
  
She reached for a nearby chair and pulled it closer, never letting go of his hand. "Regrets? A ton of them if you want to be honest."   
  
"I've been thinking a lot the last few days..."   
  
"Michael, please..."   
  
He turned to her, his eyes filled with tears. "I've had so many chances, and I just let them slip by."   
  
"We all do. We take life for granted. We take the ones we love the most for granted."   
  
"I was filled with so much hate when we first met. I couldn't see beyond revenge. I wanted Tanya Walker dead, at any cost. That's why I accepted Wilton's offer you know."   
  
"I know. So did he."   
  
"But..."   
  
"Wilton Knight knew exactly what he was doing. He knew you better then you knew yourself."   
  
Silence hung between them. Michael watched the last rays of the sun go down, and Kitt's ebony hide disappeared in the blackness. What would Kitt do without him? Would, could, he accept a new partner?   
  
As if she could read his mind Bonnie whispered, "No matter what happens he will be well taken care of. I promise."   
  
Michael sat up straighter, composing himself. He hated wearing his emotions on his sleeve. Bonnie was going through so much herself, that it wasn't fair to burden her with his. "Tomorrow Kitt and I are going to..."   
  
"No," she said softly, "no more talk about the case. I'm here because of us." She leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. "Tonight is about us."   
  
"Bonnie... I..."   
  
"Shsss. Let me say this before I lose my nerve." She took a deep breath. "Michael Knight, I have loved you for so long. I've tried to keep it a secret, even from myself. I don't know what's going to happen to us tomorrow, next week, next month, I just know that we have this night together."   
  
Michael gently ran his fingers through her long brown hair, he had longed for this moment for what seemed an eternity. He pulled her into his lap and laid his cheek against her shoulder. "I love you too." He caressed her cheek with his thumb and felt the hot tears run down her face. He wanted her so badly. To feel her body lying next to his. To feel her soft touch. "But, this is not the time."   
  
She pulled back, confused.   
  
"Bonnie," he said softly, "I want this moment to be right. For all the right reasons. Somehow we're going to pull through this. When we do, when it's the right time..."   
  
She felt him shiver as he held her tightly against him.   
  
He buried his face in her soft hair as the drug coursing through his system betrayed him, suddenly draining him of all his strength. Bonnie felt his arms slide from her shoulders. Alarmed, she helped him to the bed just a few feet away.   
  
"Your right," she soothed, wrapping the covers around his shivering shoulders, "we have all the time in the world." As gently as she could she slipped onto the bed, moving her body as close as she could, feeling the beat of his heart, tasting his soft breath on her cheek. This is what she wanted. This is what she had wished for on so many lonely nights. God damn the world that made her experience it at a time like this. For she was not, as Michael promised, so sure that the right time would arrive soon enough. She slowly fell asleep, her tears falling on his shoulder.   
  
  
Dreams had a way of fulfilling the most ardent of passions. As Bonnie fell deeper into sleep she felt Michael's hand gently brush her check again, tipping her chin up to meet his. His breath felt warm and hot on her face. She had longed for this moment for what seemed a lifetime. As soft as a whisper on her cheek she felt his lips touch hers. She could feel his heart beating, slow, rhythmic, against her hand as she slowly caressed his chest. He opened his mouth and she tasted his sweet breath, longing to disappear into his soul. She met his gentle touch, her lips parting as his tongue tasted hers. She felt as if her body were floating in the air, unencumbered by the laws of physics, ruled by the beating of her heart. She lost herself in his caresses, every breath was his breath, every thought was his thought. She drifted deeper into sleep, a contentment she had never known enveloping her in a cocoon of warmth. Deep sleep wrapped her in its safety, and like those moments that transcended reality, she knew, in her heart, that Michael had felt the same emotions.   
  
  
The sky broiled with dark heavy clouds, hovering menacingly over the Foundation's mansion in the distance.   
  
The steel of a blade caught the light from Kitt's headlights, nearly blinding him with its intensity. A body, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit lay, face down, on the well manicured lawn. A light breeze ruffled the long brown hair.   
  
Michael took a step backwards, confused. He looked down at his right hand, blood dripped from the deep gash along the inside of his wrist. The main artery had been cut. He was going to bleed to death.   
  
He looked toward Kitt, parked twenty feet away, his scanner tracking back and forth, watching him. "Kitt..." he whispered.   
  
The car remained silent.   
  
Behind him, the sound of a door opening and closing made him whip his head around. Devon stood there, surrounded by nothing but open grassland, his face frozen in a strange smirk.   
  
"Devon?" Michel reached a hand out toward his friend. Devon pivoted on his heel turning away from him. "Devon...?"   
  
He could hear the drops of blood hit the ground, his blood, forming a scarlet puddle at his feet. He was dying and no one cared.   
  
The body on the lawn stirred then turned over. Bonnie looked at him, disgust on her face. "You didn't save me." She said, her voice filled with disbelief. "You promised."   
  
Michael tried to take a step toward her but his legs wouldn't move.   
  
"You knew I was innocent." Bonnie stood up, the knife suddenly in her hand.   
  
Michael shook his head, it was becoming harder to breathe. The heavy clouds began to sink lower. He looked back at Devon, he had to understand, he had done all he could. Devon slowly turned back to face him and as he did his face morphed into Chad Grayson's.   
  
"I told Bonnie not to trust you." He smirked.   
  
Kitt's engine ignited and the black Trans Am pulled up next to Bonnie. "Bonnie was innocent." Kitt said, his voice sounding mechanical. "You were the only one who could save her and you didn't."   
  
"I tried." Michael whispered.   
  
"Not hard enough." A new voice Michael didn't recognize called from behind him. Steven Belmont stood three feet away from him, his shirt covered in blood, his hand hanging at his side with the dagger. "We all trusted you. Bonnie trusted you."   
  
"I'm sorry." Michael breathed. He looked around, he was surrounded. He looked toward Kitt, but his scanner didn't look right... it was crimson red, like blood.   
  
Grayson took a step closer, "I warned her. She wouldn't listen."   
  
Kitt's passenger door opened and Dr. Lambert climbed out. "I was is waiting for you in the infirmary. I have some disturbing news about your health. You don't look well."   
  
"I don't understand." Michael said, searching for a friendly face. He turned to Kitt. "Why is everybody blaming me?"   
  
Belmont took a step closer, the dagger in his hand.   
  
"I don't understand." Michael said.   
  
Belmont plunged the dagger deep into Michael's stomach   
  
Grayson began to laugh.   
  
Michael gasped. His legs buckled. He felt himself corkscrewing toward the ground.   
  
"Why...?" He gasped, as pain and darkness enveloped him.   
  
"Because," Bonnie said kneeling over him, "You blamed yourself..."   
He awoke with a start, bathed in sweat. Bonnie was gone. He remembered how they had fallen asleep. It had taken all his strength to say no to her. But it was the right decision. He closed his eyes and tried to drift back to sleep. He hadn't told anyone but the nightmares were becoming worse and more frequent.   
  
  
  
  
Bonnie sat at the conference table bounded on either side by Michael and Chad. Devon sat next to Michael and they all watched Prosecutor Charlene Hyland sitting opposite them. She had arranged this meeting, making the trip out to the Estate. Bonnie felt Michel squeeze her knee beneath the table and nodded. She would get through this.   
  
She had awoken early in the morning, before Michael, and slipped out of his room. She didn't think she could face him so soon after last night. It had been a foolish idea. Michael was right. To wait was the right thing, but she still felt a pang of regret that things had not gone where she had hoped they would.   
  
"Miss Barstow," Hyland began. She was flanked by the Assistant D.A. and a uniformed officer who carried her briefcase. "The State is willing to offer you a plea bargain. Murder in the Second Degree. Ten to fifteen max."   
  
"No!" Bonnie looked from Michael to Devon, she suddenly felt as if she could hardly breathe. Ten to fifteen years, for a crime she didn't commit. "No, I didn't kill him."   
  
"The evidence says otherwise, Ms. Barstow." Charlene Hyland tapped a thick file sitting in front of her. "There is more than enough here evidence to convict."   
  
"It's all circumstantial." Chad countered.   
  
"Really?" Hyland opened the file. She turned page after page reciting count after count... "Blood on Ms. Barstow's shoe. Traces of the victims skin under her fingernails. A disagreement in the restaurant. No alibi. A cab service that doesn't exist. Shall I go on?"   
  
"It's still all circumstantial." Michael snapped. Bonnie rested her hand on his knee. She saw the sweat glistening on his face. She wanted this nightmare to be over. She wanted her life back, Michael's life back. She heard Michael speaking, his voice sounded far away. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Ten to fifteen years in prison? It was beyond comprehension. "It only takes one juror to..."   
  
Hyland nodded to the officer and he placed the briefcase in front of her. She unlocked it, opening it slowly, watching everyone's expression.   
  
Michael could barely suppress a gasp of surprise as she pulled the ceremonial dagger wrapped in an evidence bag from her briefcase and carefully laid it on the table. How the hell had she gotten her hands on it? Only he and Devon and.... He glared at Chad who sat passively at the table, not at all surprised at the evidence Hyland displayed on the table. It took every bit of Michael's control not to jump the man and throttle him to death.   
  
"This," Hyland said, "is all the evidence we need to convict. The blood on the blade matches Belmont's DNA. And..." she waited, for shock value, "your fingerprints are all over it."   
  
"Of course her fingerprints are on it." Devon's voice sounded uncharacteristically desperate. The mounting evidence was burying Bonnie. "It is part of a display of old weapons here at the Estate. Bonnie customarily cleans them. I feel uncomfortable having the cleaning crew do the job. They have no idea how valuable they are."   
  
"They are fresh Mr. Miles. Did Ms. Barstow clean them in the last few days before the murder?"   
  
Devon opened his mouth to speak but Hyland cautioned him. "It is a question I will ask you on the stand Mr. Miles. Be sure of your answer."   
  
Bonnie grabbed Michael's hand. It was really happening. She was really going to go to jail. She began to tremble.   
  
Hyland turned to Chad. "Are you ready to go to court in forty-eight hours Mr. Grayson? The offer stands until the Judge drops the gavel, after that..." She turned to Bonnie. "I'd think about it Ms. Barstow. Life in prison without the possibility of parole..." She returned the dagger to the briefcase and locked it handing it back to the office. "I'll be waiting for your call." With that she stood up and walked out, leaving everyone in the conference room stunned.   
  
Michael rose slowly, his anger barely suppressed. "How," he asked, his voice husky with rage, "did she get that knife?"   
  
"I... had no choice," Chad stuttered. "It was evidence. I took an oath to..."   
  
"Don't give me that shit," Michael warned. "You had a choice. I know what lawyers do to protect their clients. You just handed them the God damn noose that's going to hang her!"   
  
"Michael, please!" Devon jumped to his feet, grabbing Michael's left arm, "this will get us nowhere."   
  
"I did what I had to do Michael." Chad said, sinking deeper into his seat. He saw the rage and the confusion in Knight's face and it scared him.   
  
Bonnie sat motionless, staring at the closed door. The roller coaster ride was just about to come to the top.   
  
Michael whipped his arm away from Devon's grip, "He's conducting this case like a damn idiot. Where are his appeals? Where are the stays? He hasn't done a damn thing except sit back and watch the Prosecution mount their case."   
  
"Please Michel," Devon implored, " sit down. This outburst is helping no one, especially yourself. Remember what Dr. Lambert's orders..."   
  
"The hell with Lambert's orders." He growled, and headed for the door. "I'll be in touch. It's time I did it my way."   
  
The door slammed behind him with three sets of eyes staring at the door. Devon shook his head sadly. He gently squeezed Bonnie's hand. This should not be happening, he thought. This should not be happening. If only he had not left her with a complete stranger at the gala. If he had kept his promise to Michael and taken care of her...   
  
  
  
  
As Michael slid behind the wheel he felt Kitt engage the engine and the sleek black car pulled away from the curve.   
  
"I understand your concern and your frustrations Michael," Kitt offered, "but loosing control will not help Bonnie."   
  
"I know Pal," Michael leaned back into the seat, trying to bring his breathing under control. "I know. But we're missing something here."   
  
He slammed his hand against the gull -winged steering wheel and immediately regretted it. "Oh God, I'm sorry Kitt. I'm sorry."   
  
"I understand Michael. But you must try to relax. You will not do Bonnie any good if you are confined to the hospital."   
  
Michael nodded. Kitt was always able to calm him down.   
  
"Perhaps we should go over the facts again."   
  
"We have, a hundred times." Michael protested. He was beginning to feel the effects of his outburst. He felt more tired, physically and emotionally, than he had ever felt before.   
  
"And we will do it a hundred times more if need be. You said yourself that we're missing something."   
  
"Yea, but what?" Michael closed his eyes and let Kitt drive him out of town. When he opened them again they were parked beneath a huge Pine tree, not another living soul in sight.   
  
"Shall we?" Kitt asked.   
  
Michael nodded. How many other times had they brainstormed like this? But never had the consequences been so dire.   
  
"Number one: you take ill."   
  
Michel nodded. "To keep me away from the party."   
  
"Number two: Bonnie meets Steven Belmont."   
  
"Part of the setup. Poor bastard, he didn't know what he was in for."   
  
"Number three: They meet by, prearranged accident, and Bonnie is persuaded to have a late dinner with him."   
  
That one irked Michael more than he wanted to admit. "He drives her to the Golden Terrace Restaurant, leaving you behind to take Devon home. They drink some wine, have an hor-d`oeuvre or two... then Belmont gets a little too familiar and Bonnie bolts."   
  
"Number four: The police show up at her apartment, and find her shoe smeared with Belmont's blood. I don't need to go into the dagger business."   
  
Michael sat up straighter in his seat, an idea forming. "Kitt," he said slowly, trying to make sense of an idea that was lurking in the back of his mind... "Remember two years ago when Bonnie dropped the jack to soon?"   
  
"I will never forget it. I have never heard such words. She was in even a worse mood when she had to wear that cast for three months."   
  
"But it left her right foot deformed. She has to wear a size larger shoe on her right foot. Kitt, every time she buys shoes she has to buy two pairs. One for her left foot and one for her right."   
  
"Your right Michael."   
  
"That means... Kitt, I think we need to have a look at those shoes. The right should be one size larger."   
  
"But how? They are in the police evidence locker...No... You're not thinking what I think your thinking..."   
  
"We've got to take a look at that shoe. It could mean Bonnie's freedom."   
  
"Yes, but why not tell Chad? He could have the shoe..."   
  
Michael shook his head. "He's been next to useless so far. No, this one is ours Kitt."   
  
Kitt checked the time and ignited the engine. "It's four fifteen. You get some rest and I'll pick you up at three A.M."   
  
"Thanks Pal." Michael grinned for the first time in a long time.   
  
"I would do anything for Bonnie. But Michael... I will stop short of endangering your life. Bonnie wouldn't have it any other way."   
  
Michael patted the steering wheel. "I understand Pal. Hopefully you will not have to make that decision."   
  
  
  
  
Michael pulled up to the Elmhurst Police station. He felt stronger after a short rest. Uncurling himself from the comfort of Kitt's warm cabin he stared at the ten story building. Even at this late hour people still filed in and out of the front doors. A police station never slept. How often, he thought, had he been in police stations just like this?   
  
He shifted his shoulders feeling uncomfortable out of his customary black leather jacket. Instead he wore a dark green sports jacket with a black tie. On his left breast pocket he wore his old Las Vegas Police badge. It had been a long time since he had felt the heft of the shield on his chest. As he pinned it on earlier, it had brought back a flood of memories. Thoughts he had not had for years. He remembered staring at the reflection of himself in the mirror and wondering what he would look like if fate had not intervened and he was still Michael Long.   
  
"Michael, are you all right?" Kitt asked. He was growing increasingly worried about his partner. The mental and physical stress of the past few weeks were taking their toll on Michael. And they were having an effect on him as well. The stress of maintaining the constant heightened vigilance on Michael was draining. Someone, somehow, was continuing to poison him with the Lotomil. The fear of losing Michael, coupled with the fear of watching Bonnie unravel emotionally was scaring him to death.   
  
"Yea, just getting my thoughts together." Michael took a deep breath, "Keep your scanners peeled." He said and headed for the entrance.   
  
Kitt watched him disappear through the double doors into the station, at the same time keeping a careful eye on everyone and everything around him.   
  
Inside the station house the sights and sounds hit Michael like a physical blow. Even the smells stunned him. It was hard to believe that seven years had past since he called a police station like this home. He had practically lived at the Las Vegas Precinct. Good times in his life. Stevie loved him. She proudly wore his engagement ring. He had a sound friendship with his partner Muntzy. All was as it should have been until that fateful night in the desert, facing Tanya Walker and her gun. He still had nightmares of that moment when he felt the white-hot agony of the bullet exploding in his face, followed by the report of the gun... The door burst open behind him shocking him out of his reverie. He looked back to see one more handcuffed detainee pushed into line by a uniformed cop for processing. Shit! The same booking Sergeant that was on duty the night Bonnie was brought in sat behind the desk, processing a new batch of prisoners. He turned his back, hoping the Sergeant wouldn't recognize him without his black leather jacket.   
  
Sgt. Cleve Brown, Watch Commander, sat at his desk. It had been a long night and he was looking forward to going home. He had seen a steady stream of suspects being pushed through the booking process that night. More than usual. He attributed it, in part, to being the end of the month and a full moon. So when the tall, well dressed, stranger flashed him his Las Vegas badge and I.D. he did little more than glance at it casually.   
  
"Vegas, huh? What can I do for you Vegas?"   
  
Michael silently breathed a sigh of relief. Kitt's hastily forged I.D had worked. "I'd like to view Walter Steiger's evidence locker." Michael answered, trying to appear calm and nonchalant. Kitt had checked the arrest reports for the past two weeks and found Walter Steiger, a Las Vegas resident pick up on a John charge, waiting for extradition back to Nevada for a parole violation.   
  
Sgt. Brown checked his logbook, "Popular guy. One of your friends is already in with him now."   
  
Michael's heart skipped a beat. Damn, Kitt had picked a live one. "Yea. I'm joining him as soon as I check out the evidence."   
  
"Sure thing. Third floor, hang a left. It's at the end of the corridor."   
  
"Thanks." Michael started walking toward the elevator.   
  
"Hey Vegas," Sgt Brown called after him.   
  
Michael stopped, slowly turning around, his nerves on edge.   
  
"You all right?" He asked. "You don't look so good."   
  
Michael grinned, "Used to the hot Vegas nights. It's down right freezing around here. Caught a cold."   
  
Sgt. Brown snorted, "It's not the cold around here that'll kill ya, it's the smog. Take care of yourself."   
  
"Will do." Michael gave him a friendly salute and made his way toward the elevator, counting each footstep waiting for Brown to call him back. Nothing happened and he stepped inside the open elevator punching the button for the third floor with a sigh of relief.   
  
"So far so good." He said into his comlink. "Have you thought of a diversion yet?"   
  
"I'm still working on it, Michael."   
  
"Well, you better hurry up." Michael hissed.   
  
As he approached the Evidence Room he saw the standard four by four foot window protected by iron bars. Next to it a door with an electronic lock led into the inner sanctum of the station where the evidence to hundreds upon hundreds of cases was held. The trick was to find Bonnie's. He passed his I.D. through the bars and the officer logged him in.   
  
"You're out late." Sgt O'Dell sighed. It was nearing the end of his shift and he wanted to go home.   
  
"Got a an early flight to catch back home." Michael said. "I'd like to see what you've got on Walter Steiger. We've been after him for years."   
  
"Yea? Well, we caught him with his pants down." O'Dell chuckled and pressed a button electronically unlocking the door. "You'll find what you want in...," he typed Steiger's name into his computer. Lot number 3737215. Three isles to your left and two shelves from the top."   
  
"Thanks," Michael grinned, "maybe you'll make it out my way some day."   
  
"Doubt it. Too poor to gamble. I'll leave that racket to the rich and stupid."   
  
Michael waved him off good naturedly and headed for the third isle.   
  
  
  
Suddenly the room was plunged into complete darkness. The evacuation siren began to blare and red emergency lights lit the room in eerie shadows. He heard O'Dell curse and the door close behind him.   
  
"Ok Kitt," he hissed, "what's Bonnie's lot number?"   
  
"3747447 Michael. Three isles to your left, next to the last shelf."   
  
Michael quickly negotiated the maze of isles of floor to ceiling evidence boxes. Each medal box was ten inches high by fourteen inches long by thirty inches deep. Each row held one hundred boxes. A ladder attached to a railing along the top of the cabinets slid back and forth down the isle for easy access to the higher boxes. It was hard reading the numbers in the dim red flashing lights but found lot number 3747421 and followed the sequence of numbers to Bonnie's evidence box. Damn, it had to be the second box from the top. He slipped on a pair of disposable gloves and climbed the ladder, praying that a bout of dizziness wouldn't hit. He opened the box and grabbed the evidence bags carrying it back down. Carefully placing them on the floor, he was keenly aware of time ticking by, O'Dell would be returning any minute, but this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. He ran his comlink over everything, knowing that Kitt could adjust for the dim red emergency lighting. He found the blood stained shoe, locked in a plastic evidence bag and carefully ran the com link over every inch. He checked the size, a tiny smile playing at his lips. It was a seven and a half. Bonnie wore an eight on her right foot.   
  
Suddenly the overhead neon lights flashed to life bathing the room in bright light.   
  
"Michael," Kitt whispered, "O'Dell is on his way back. And he's not happy. You better get out of there."   
  
"Thanks Pal. I think we've got what we need."   
  
He heard the electronic lock buzz then the sound of O'Dell's chair squeaking as he sat down.   
  
"We've got a problem." Michael whispered, hunkered down behind a shelf to the right of O'Dell. He spotted a security camera mounted on the wall above the door.   
  
"I know, Michel."   
  
"Can you give me another diversion?"   
  
"Nothing as elaborate. They're doing a full check on the electrical system."   
  
"I don't care what you do, just do something! And see about disarming this security camera. I don't want my face plastered all over the building."   
  
Michael heard the phone on O'Dell's desk ring and his disgusted reply. "Tell him I'll be right there. My shift's over in fifteen, nothing, and I mean nothing is going to keep me here overtime."   
  
Michael heard O'Dell leave the room, listening to the silence.   
  
"I'm on my way Kitt. Meet me out front in five."   
  
"Already there Michael."   
  
Michael grinned, Kitt was... Suddenly a wave of dizziness hit him toppling him forward. He grabbed wildly at anything and caught an evidence box, hanging on while the room spun wildly around him.   
  
"Michael!" Kitt saw Michael's vitals spike and he automatically ignited his engine.   
  
The room spun violently. He fought back the nausea. He tried to take long deep breaths. He closed his eyes and the world spun faster.   
  
  
He held onto to the evidence box as if it were a lifeline. He knew he had to get out of there, O'Dell would be returning any second, after finding the call was a ruse.   
  
"Michael...?"   
  
"Dizzy..." Was all Michael could manage to say.   
  
"O'Dell is at the elevator. I'm overriding it now. You have four point six minutes."   
  
Michael crawled toward the door, the floor spinning beneath him. He reached the door, and through the buzzing in his ears he heard the electronic lock disengage and swing open.   
  
"Michael, you have to use the stairs." Kitt said, his calm voice belying his anxiety.   
  
Michael scrambled out of the room and found himself in the hallway, disorientated.   
  
"To your left Michael," Kitt prompted.   
  
Michael climbed to his feet and weaved down the hallway like a drunken man.   
  
"Three more feet, Michael." Kit urged.   
  
He felt the stairway door and heard Kitt disengage the lock. As he stepped into the stairwell he heard the echo of the door closing behind him. He saw the iron railing leading down and steps spinning in front of him. He grabbed for it and missed, almost falling head first down the metal stairs. It took two more tries before his hand finally connected with the iron bar. He held on with both hands as he began to descend. One step at a time. Sliding the back of his ankle down each step, testing the step then taking another. His sweat slippery hands slipping on the iron railing.   
  
He felt increasingly nauseous.   
  
"You're doing fine." Kitt said. "You are almost to the second floor."   
  
Step after step, the sound of his shoes on the metal stairs rang in his ears. Then he felt the slab of concrete that was the second floor landing.   
  
"Michael, one more floor." Kitt coaxed.   
  
Wordlessly Michael began to inch his way down the next flight.   
  
A full fifteen minutes after he began the descent he reached the first floor. Drained of every ounce of energy, he rested his head against the door, willing his legs not to buckle. Through a haze he saw swirling images through the window: dozens of people milling around the lobby. "Kitt," he hissed, "I'll never make it."   
  
"Michael," Kitt said calmly, "you have to meet me in the garage."   
  
Silence.   
  
"One more flight." Kitt urged. "Bonnie is depending on you. We have the evidence now."   
  
Michael groaned and pushed away from the door grabbing hold of the steel railing. He did have the evidence. He took one cautious step after another.   
  
"Three more steps," he heard Kitt say through the buzzing in his ears. "Two more steps... I'm waiting right outside the door."   
  
Michael reached the door, his hand searching for the knob. He heard the electronic lock disengage and he pushed the door open. The cool night air washed over his face. He saw Kitt's black form wavering in the shallow light of the underground parking garage. The passenger door automatically opened and he collapsed into the seat, drawing his long legs inside before collapsing, unconsciousness in the seat. Kitt pulled away from the stairway door heading for the street exit. It would take him seventeen minutes to reach the Foundation.   
  
  
  
Devon watched Ted Lambert pace the floor in front of his desk. He had known the doctor for many years. In fact, he was with the Foundation before Devon joined Wilton Knight. He was with Wilton when he had finally succumbed to his illness and had since seen Michael through more than a few scrapes. Devon had come to expect, and appreciate his professionalism. He rarely showed emotion, of any kind. Even through Wilton's last days he had remained aloof. He had often said, that to become involved with a patient, was counter effective to both parties.   
  
So, to see him so distraught over Michael's illness was disturbing, and added to Devon's worry.   
  
"I don't understand." He said, looking to Devon for an explanation. "Dr. Bronson isolated the drug. He administered the proper drug, Naloxone. Michael responded. He showed signs of recovery. Yet the very next day he was at the same stage as the day before. There are no indications of how the drug is being introduced. Damn it Devon... How can I help him if I can't find the source?"   
  
Devon sat back, exhausted. It had been a terrible ordeal for everyone, and it appeared things were only going to get worse. "I don't know, Ted." He said bitterly, "Bonnie is facing life in prison, Michael is facing... a life sentence of his own, and it appears that there is nothing we can do for either of them."   
  
"How is Bonnie holding up?"   
  
"She is on the verge of a breakdown." Devon said sadly. "Not only does she have to contend with her own problems she also is worried about Michael."   
  
"Any progress?"   
  
Devon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Every stone we overturn just makes Bonnie look all the more guilty."   
  
Dr. Lambert studied Devon for a long minute. "Are you all right, Devon? I'm worried about you too. You have been under an enormous strain."   
  
Devon waved him off, "I'm fine Ted."   
  
"It's not easy when our children are hurting, is it?"   
  
"You know me all too well Ted," Devon smiled sadly. "I have allowed myself to become involved with their lives. I feel, at times, that they are the children I never had."   
  
"Where is Michael now?"   
  
"Out in the field. This has been particularly hard on him. He feels that he has let Bonnie down somehow... He..."   
  
The computer on Devon's desk beeped twice, an alert that Michael was calling in. He opened the line. "Yes Michael, have you found..."   
  
"Michael is in distress. I'm bringing him in now." Devon could hear the fear in Kitt's voice.   
  
"Understood." Devon looked at Dr. Lambert. How much more of this could any of them take?   
  
  
  
Michael felt as if he were clawing his way up through layers of soft cotton. It surrounded him, stifling hot. He heard voices waning in and out somewhere in the distance.   
  
"How do you feel?" Someone asked. He knew that voice. It made him feel comfortable.   
  
He grunted. To answer would take too much energy. It was easier to fall back into the void of drugged sleep.   
  
  
  
"Welcome back..." Bonnie whispered reaching down to brush the damp hair off his forehead. "How do you feel?"   
  
Michael's eyes flickered. He was aware that she was there, but that was all. And for the moment, it was enough.   
  
  
  
When Michael awoke the third time he found Bonnie standing over him, her face ashen white. He tried to reach a hand out to her but found his wrists bound to the bed's safety bars. He felt confused, disorientated.   
  
"It's all right," she soothed, untying the restraints.   
  
"What happened?"   
  
"We almost lost you," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "By the time Kitt got you here you were having seizures." She lifted his hand, careful not to disturb the I.V. line.   
  
Michael nodded. "I remember a little."   
  
Bonnie took a deep breath, "Michael, I've made my decision. I'm going to take the D.A.'s offer. There's nothing more that..."   
  
"Didn't Kitt tell you?" He tried to raise his head but another wave of dizziness hit.   
  
"He babbled something about a shoe size. He's been so concerned about you."   
  
Michael squeezed his eyes against the nausea that rose in his stomach. He wasn't strong enough for this now. "Please," he whispered, his eyelids growing too heavy to keep open, "wait. We found something."   
  
"Michael... it's not going to make a difference. The D.A...."   
  
"Promise me..."   
  
Bonnie watched his eyes close and the tears began to flow again. There was no use fighting it anymore. She leaned down and kissed his lips, her heart breaking. Why had they finally admitted their feelings when it was too late?   
  
  
  
Michael was more than a little perturbed. He had awoken again to find himself back in the infirmary with Dr. Lambert hovering over him. He vaguely remembered talking to Bonnie, but little more. It took time for his addled mind to remember all the details about the police station and what he had found.   
  
"Where's Devon?" he snapped. He felt like hell. He felt disjointed, disconnected, as if he were floating. He knew it was the effects of whatever drug Lambert had pumped into his system to counteract the drug that was slowly poisoning him.   
  
"On his way over. I alerted him the minute you began to regain consciousness. Bonnie's on her way over too."   
  
"How long have I been here?"   
  
Lambert shrugged. "About twelve hours. That was a stupid stunt you pulled last night. Kitt barely got you back in time."   
  
Michael remembered Kitt racing through the dark streets, talking to him, urging him to hang on. The fear in his voice palpable.   
  
He looked down at his wrist. His comlink was gone.   
  
"Right here." Lambert dangled it in front of him. "You can have it if you promise to take it easy."   
  
Michael snatched it out of his hand "I'll take it easy when Bonnie is safe." He tugged angrily at the infirmary issue gown. "Where are my clothes?"   
  
"Stored in a safe place. For now, you are my guest. Anything that you do for the next twenty four hours..."   
  
"Bonnie goes to court tomorrow morning, eight A.M. If you think I'm staying here..."   
  
"If I have to, I'll put you in restraints." Lambert warned.   
  
"Look," Michael said, closing his eyes, trying to drive the cobwebs from his brain. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But right now, Bonnie is more important. Can you guarantee that you'll find an answer before it's too late?"   
  
"Michael, that's an unfair question." He grabbed a chair and slid it over next to the bed. "I know what drug you are being exposed to, I just can't figure out how. You respond to the meds for a few hours then it's right back where we started. I'm going to be honest with you, you used your Trump card last night. Another episode like that and there's nothing I can do."   
  
"Nothing could be worse than seeing Bonnie spending the rest of her life in prison for a crime she didn't commit."   
  
"That," Devon said, as he walked into the room, "is precisely why we are here."   
  
Michael watched, fascinated, as Devon pushed a cart into the room with a full keyboard and monitor. Bonnie followed with an armful of files.   
  
"Kitt came up with some fascinating facts." Devon said, his voice filled with more animation than he had heard in a week. "We have approximately twelve hours. Together we should be able to come up with something."   
  
"I don't understand."   
  
"Michael," Kitt's voice emanated from the a speaker attached to the monitor, "Bonnie was kind enough to set up these monitor so we could see each other."   
  
Michael looked from Devon to Bonnie, surprised.   
  
"Don't look at me," Bonnie grinned, "It was Kitt's idea. He thought we could all work better if we were together."   
  
"Thanks Buddy." It felt a little odd not using his comlink to talk.   
  
"Kitt analyzed the evidence you scanned last night. We thought you would like to see what he found."   
  
"Anything interesting?"   
  
Devon nodded. The monitor came to life with a picture of Bonnie's shoe.   
  
"You were right Michael. The shoe is not Bonnie's. In fact it has never been worn." The shoe turned slowly on the screen. "As you can see," Kitt continued, "there is no wear pattern on the sole. The size is wrong too."   
  
"Whoever devised this ruse didn't know about Bonnie's accident. Good call Michael."   
  
"The next question is: who bought it?"   
  
"That," Bonnie said, frustrated, "is very intriguing. I buy my shoes from a small boutique on Howard Street. I have for years. Someone ordered a pair identical to mine using my name."   
  
"Do we know who...?"   
  
"They used Bonnie's credit card and had them send via UPS here, to the Foundation." Kitt said.   
  
"But I never received them."   
  
"But who did?"   
  
"I traced the call to a phone here at the Foundation." Kitt continued. "From Devon's office."   
  
"It's an inside job?" Michael sat up, dismissing Lambert's concerned warning.   
  
"It would appear so." Devon agreed. "Someone in our own midsts."   
  
"I don't understand." Bonnie took the seat that Lambert had vacated when they walked in. "Who would hate me, hate you, so much to do this?"   
  
"And who would have the means?" Michael asked. "Kitt, anything else of interest in the evidence box."   
  
"I'm afraid not Michael." Items, wrapped in plastic bags and tagged slowly appeared on the screen. "Only odds and ends that were picked up at the scene and in Bonnie's apartment."   
  
"Hold it. What's that?"   
  
Kitt froze a picture of a note protected by a plastic evidence bag. "It was the note the police found in Belmont's coat pocket."   
  
Michael read Bonnie's name and address and the name of the restaurant they eventfully ended up at that fatal night. He looked from the note to all the faces that stared back at him, confused and worried. "Jesus," he whispered, stunned, "I know who did it."   
  
  
  
"Kitt, bring up anything that Chad Grayson's writing."   
  
"Why..."   
  
"Just do it. Please."   
  
Bonnie and Devon glanced at each other.   
  
Kitt search his memory banks for anything written by Chad Grayson "Here it is." Kitt said at last.   
  
"Good. Now, compare the handwriting to the one on the note."   
  
"You think it was Chad?" Bonnie stared at Michael, dumbfounded. "That's impossible."   
  
"No it's not Bonnie." Kitt displayed the note found on Steven Belmont and a list of items Chad had given Kitt to check on. They watched in fascination as Kitt found a matching word in both letters and merged them together. "An identical match."   
  
"But why?" Bonnie gasped, her voice little more than a whisper.   
  
"A good question, my dear." Devon stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Why?   
  
"That explains why he was doing such a piss ass job on your defense." Michael, too, stared at the screen. "Where did he come from? How did he suddenly get on Bonnie's case?"   
  
"I'm afraid I'm the one to blame for that." Devon looked at Bonnie, "I'm very sorry my dear." He looked back down at Michael, not liking what he saw. There was a look in his eyes that he had seen before. When Stevie was killed. "Chad Grayson came to us three years ago. In the four years between the time he passed the Bar and stated practicing, he had gained an exemplary record. After the usual background check we hired him. Nothing untoward happened in those years and..." realization hit Devon like a physical blow." He was in my office when I got the call about Bonnie. It was a set up from the very beginning."   
  
"Well, he's history now." Michael seethed.   
  
"Yes. But we must move slowly. We don't want to scare him at this point. We have a lot of research to do. There must be an explanation somewhere. Michael, you get some rest. We'll be back this evening."   
  
Michael nodded, letting himself sink deeper into the pillows.   
  
"Kitt will keep you apprised of our findings."   
  
Bonnie leaned down and lightly kissed his forehead as he tucked the covers around him. "Thank you," she whispered.   
  
"Now, you stay put." Devon warned him.   
  
"Michael is going nowhere." Lambert said, happy to have won this one round with Michael. "He's promised me twelve hours."   
  
"I'll keep you informed." Kitt promised.   
  
"Thanks Pal." Michael watched them leave, pushing the cart out the door. He turned to see Lambert with a hypodermic syringe in his hand.   
  
"What's that?" He asked suspiciously.   
  
"Something to relax you."   
  
"Come on Doc. I just need a little time."   
  
"You need to rest."   
  
"I've got a lot of things to juggle around while they're fresh in my mind. Just an hour...huh?"   
  
Lambert nodded, not so sure that Michael wasn't planning the Great Escape. "An hour." He agreed, "then it's lights out. And, by the way," he added, "did you know that Devon ordered armed security on this floor? There's a guard right outside your door. I'll be back in an hour."   
  
Michael watched Lambert leave then carefully crawled out of bed. His legs felt weaker that he had expected. He found his clothes hung in the closet and stuffed them under the bed sheets. As soon as Kitt was back he was going to pay Chad Grayson a little call.   
  
  
Kitt was boiling mad. Not only had Michael slipped out of the hospital, right under the nose of the guard, he had also forced him to lie to Devon and Bonnie. "This is foolhardy Michael. What do you expect to accomplish facing Grayson now? You can barely stand on your own two feet."   
  
"I've got to do this one on my own Kitt. It's personal."   
  
Kitt heard the anger in Michael's voice and knew that it was impossible to change his mind. He could only support him. Try to keep him out of harms way.   
  
They arrived fifteen minutes later at Chad's apartment on Samson Street. "Room two forty four, Michael."   
  
"Can you tell if he's home?"   
  
"I'm scanning one person, I assume that it is Grayson."   
  
"OK, give me twenty minutes, if I haven't called in, alert Devon and Bonnie. And Kitt... thanks."   
  
"You're welcome, Michael. I just want this to be over."   
  
"Me too." Michael climbed out of the car and patted the roof. "Keep your scanners peeled. He's mine. I don't want any interruptions."   
  
The anger in Michael's voice worried Kitt. His partner was at the end of his endurance, both physically and mentally. He prayed Michael would not do something he would regret.   
  
  
  
Michael knocked on room two forty four and heard someone walk toward the door. He hadn't expected to feel as weak as he did. The sweat was pouring down his face, plastering his shirt to his back beneath his black leather jacket. He hoped he could keep it together long enough to get Chad to spill his guts. Kitt would be recording the entire conversation.   
  
The door opened just enough for Chad to peek out, surprised to see Michael standing in the hallway. "I thought I was off the case." He said, standing aside so Michael could enter the room.   
  
"You are. I just wanted to see what you'd say about this." Michael handed him a copy of Belmont's note and his note, watching to see a reaction. There was none. The guy was as cold as ice, Michael thought.   
  
"Is this supposed to mean something?" Grayson asked, closing the door behind him. Michael noticed the sparsely furnished room. A couch and a twenty-inch TV sat in one corner. A wet bar stood in the opposite corner. It didn't appear to be a home, only a temporary resting place.   
  
"Notice anything familiar about this?" Michael pointed to Belmont's letter.   
  
"You hiding evidence again?"   
  
"They're both written by the same person." Michael grabbed the notes from Grayson holding them side by side.   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Care to tell me why your handwriting is a perfect match for the Belmont note?"   
  
Chad raised an eyebrow. "I knew you were good, Knight. Didn't think you were that good."   
  
"Why?" Michael asked simply, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He felt a light tingle from his comlink: Kitt's warning to be careful.   
  
"Simple." Grayson answered coldly, "Revenge."   
  
  
  
Devon slammed the phone down. "Damn it. Michael has disappeared from the infirmary."   
  
Bonnie quickly checked on Kitt in the garage. "Kitt's gone too. He'll have gone to Chad's apartment. Devon, he's in no condition to..."   
  
"I know. Call Lambert, tell him to meet us in the garage in fifteen minutes."   
  
Bonnie lifted her pant leg exposing the monitor. "Devon, I can't..."   
  
"I believe, under the circumstances the court will understand the necessity."   
  
  
Michael watched Chad cross over to the wet bar in the corner of the living room.   
  
"Want a drink?" He asked.   
  
Michael shook his head, a movement he regretted immediately. A wave of dizziness hit him and he stumbled back against the door.   
  
"Sorry, I forgot. You haven't been feeling up to par for a few weeks. A pity. It's an amazing drug, Lotomil. Too much and your dead within hours, not enough and you wouldn't notice it. But in the right dosage... You have survived rather well, better than I had expected."   
  
"How?" Michael's anger was replaced by a feeling of ultimate foreboding.   
  
"How? You mean how did I do it? Simple. DMSO laced with Lotomil on the sleeve of your jacket. Simple. A few drops every other day. Doc Lambert would shoot you up with Naloxone, then you'd put your jacket back on and..." Grayson poured a glass of Scotch into a crystal glass, a satisfied smirk on his face.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"There's that word again. Why?" Chad set his glass down on the bar top. Gone was the bumbling, stuttering character Michael had seen the past few weeks.. Instead he saw a cold-blooded killer, his eyes cold as ice. "Devon Miles."   
  
"Devon?" Another wave of dizziness hit. He looked down at his black leather jacket. With trembling hands he pulled the jacket off and dropped it on the floor. "What did Devon ever do to you? And why Bonnie?"   
  
"It was all part of the game. Get Miles through the bitch."   
  
Michael's anger flared.   
  
"She was the perfect patsy. And you?" He smiled ruefully, "you were the other most important person in his life. Like he took the most important person away in my life."   
  
  
  
Kitt listened to Grayson. He had still not said what had led him to such hatred. He could not understand the concept of pure hate. He would have to have Michael explain... Suddenly the thought that Michael might not be there for him to explain anything jarred him to the core of his CPU. Shaken, he continued to monitor and tape, digging deeper into Grayson's association with the Foundation. The answer was there somewhere.   
  
"You still haven't told me why." Michael pressed.   
  
"Damn it, there's that word again. Why, why, why? You sound like a broken record."   
  
Michael waited for an answer. His knees began to tremble. He would not be able to stay on his feet for much longer. But he had to keep fighting, until Grayson confessed to everything. It was Bonnie's life at stake.   
  
"It was fun playing with the bitch. All needy and trusting." Grayson leered.   
  
Michael took a step closer, clenching his fists.   
  
"And the note. That was stupid on my part. I didn't think you'd remember."   
  
"You still haven't...."   
  
"I know... why? You know that last dose of Lotomil I gave you was the end for you my friend. You're a dead man, Knight."   
  
Michael nodded. "Then there's nothing stopping me from kicking your sorry ass from here to hell."   
  
"Except the strength. Feeling a little shaky there, aren't you? It took me a long time to find just the right drug. I needed you ambulatory. I wanted to see every door slammed in your face. Watching Devon fall to pieces as you and Bonnie were faced with death sentences. Because, life in prison for Bonnie would be death."   
  
Michael's temper rose.   
  
"Then Devon would just shrivel up into an old man. Lost and lonely."   
  
"You son of a bitch." Michael couldn't contain his temper and strode across the room. The little man stood his ground in front of the bar. Michael reached out to grab him by the shirt, the only thing he could think of was pummeling him to death, but Chad was faster then he looked. He side stepped Michael and caught him with a solid fist in the stomach. Michael doubled over, spitting up bile.   
  
"Your in no condition to take me on, Michael." Chad tisked. "You're as weak as a ninety year old man."   
  
Michael stood up slowly, trying to regain his balance, his face ashen white.   
  
"Too bad Devon isn't here to witness this. It would make it so much more enjoyable."   
  
"What did Devon do to you?" Michael gasped. He was on the verge of collapse. But the adrenalin of fear and anger kept him going. Kitt was taping all of this. He had to get a complete confession.   
  
"He sent my father to prison for a crime he didn't commit. He died in there, a broken man. Mile's testimony sent an innocent man to his death. I promised my Daddy, the day that he died, that I would get Devon. It took me eleven years. There wasn't a thing that I did, not a moment in the day, when I didn't think about him, about what he did to my Daddy. And now he's paying. He's loosing you and Bonnie."   
  
"You're the one who's losing Chad. Bonnie will be a free woman by this time tomorrow with this new evidence. You... you'll be facing the needle."   
  
"Maybe. But it will be worth it to take down Devon Miles."   
  
Michael felt the electrical tingle of his comlink. He raised his hand to his mouth, "Yea Kitt." His arm felt like a lead weight. "What is it?"   
  
"Bonnie and Devon are on their way."   
  
"Wonderful!" Chad grinned. "The more the merrier."   
  
"Don't let them come up. It's a trap."   
  
Chad suddenly lunged, catching Michael by the shoulders and driving him to the floor, straddling his legs a crossed Michael's chest. "The bitch can watch you die." He shouted, punching him in the face.   
  
Michael felt warm blood fill his mouth. He exploded in anger, catching Chad in the chin with a vicious uppercut. Chad fell off him, lying on the floor, stunned. Michael gasped for air trying to get his body to obey. He climbed to his feet grabbing Grayson by the shoulders and dragging him closer to the bar, slamming him against it. But Grayson wasn't compromised by the drug and kneed Michael viciously in the stomach. Michael gagged on the blood filling his mouth and went down on both knees. Another punch caught him in the kidney. It took all his strength to block the next blow. But Grayson was stronger than he looked. He hefted Michael off the ground and slammed him against the bar. Michael felt himself slipping toward oblivion. Another vicious punch to the stomach and he felt the agony of a rib breaking. It didn't matter though... Kitt had heard everything. Grayson was going down for murder and Bonnie would be set free. One more punch to his kidney and he collapsed, lifeless on the floor.   
  
Grayson stood over Michael, panting just as the door smashed open.   
  
Devon stood in the doorway, Bonnie and Lambert at his side, a look of primal rage on his face. He stared down at Michael then strode toward Grayson. "You insignificant little Bastard." He raged, "You did all this in the name of your father?"   
  
"He was innocent." Grayson cowered back against the bar. "You sent him to prison."   
  
"Because he was guilty!" Devon roared. "I saw him, with my own two eyes."   
  
"No." Grayson grabbed Devon's arms trying to rip away his grip. Devon held on tighter. "He told me, the night before he died. He was innocent."   
  
Four uniformed officers barged into the room. Devon pushed Grayson toward them. "Get him out of here before I kill him with my bare hands."   
  
Bonnie pushed past them all dropping to her knees next to Michael. Lambert was next to her now, barking orders she couldn't understand through a haze of disbelief. All this, for nothing. Devon leaned down and pulled her out of the way as the emergency medial team surrounded Michael. She buried her head in his chest. "No..."   
  
  
  
  
Michael heard a soft swishing sound somewhere near him. He had heard it off and on for the longest time. Today it seemed louder, to the point of annoyance.   
  
He pried his eyes open, the light hurting his eyes at first until they became accustomed to the neon lights in the ceiling. He looked around the room, surprised to see the cause of the disagreeable sound. Bonnie was sitting at a make shift desk in the corner of the room set up with a computer and printer. The swishing noise was the printer spitting out page after page of some kind of text.   
  
"Your diary?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.   
  
She looked up, at first startled, then relieved. "Welcome back to the world." She grinned, walking over to the bed. "It's all the evidence we have on Chad. I could write a book."   
  
"How long?"   
  
"Two weeks. Dr. Lambert kept you in a drug-induced coma to allow your body time to recover. He said you'd be coming around any day now." She gently played with his hair. "It's good to have you back."   
  
"Grayson?"   
  
"He's in jail. The judge wouldn't let him post bail. I saw him a couple of days ago. He's facing the death penalty for Belmont's murder and attempted murder. He almost got away with it. He legally took his mother's maiden name. That's why we never caught on. So much hate."   
  
"Are you all right?" He asked softly, feeling her take his hand.   
  
"I am now, that you're back." She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You know," she whispered, "what happened a few weeks ago, I understand it was just in the moment."   
  
Michael sighed, closing his eyes, remembering her in his arms. "It wasn't for me."   
  
Bonnie smiled, slipping onto the bed next to him. "Dr. Lambert would kill me if he knew I was..."   
  
"What...? Giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? Believe me, it's the best medicine I've ever had."   
  
Bonnie snuggled close to him, feeling his warm body next to hers. He had survived. They all had survived. The future held possibilities she could not even contemplate. It was enough to live in the moment. She carefully removed the comlink from his wrist, Kitt didn't need to know everything.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
40 


End file.
